


Ad Astra Per Aspera

by estellewastaken



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Porn With Plot, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Shower Sex, Spit As Lube, Top Shiro (Voltron), but like realistic, more like porn with angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2020-09-29 14:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20437484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estellewastaken/pseuds/estellewastaken
Summary: “Your connection to me runs deep,” Shiro says, and it may be his voice but the words are not his own. “Deeper than the others’. You still believe there is good left inside me, which leaves you…vulnerable.”





	1. Amor Et Melle Et Felle Est Fecundissimus

**Author's Note:**

> tags will be updated with each chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The worst pain in the world goes beyond the physical. Even further beyond any other emotional pain one can feel. It is the betrayal of a friend.”_  
― Heather Brewer, _Ninth Grade Slays_

_“Keith.”_

Shiro isn’t Shiro. 

The realization is instantaneous. It’s the way he holds himself, far too at ease for the situation. There’s a slight slump of his shoulders favoring his right arm, his stance is off-kilter, and his chin juts out at the wrong angle. He’s smiling but it’s more of a smirk, not the kind he usually wears when he’s being sarcastic or when he’s amused by the group’s antics; it’s far too sinister, too sadistic, and the voice that comes out of it is honey and venom.

Also, his Galra arm is glowing purple. That’s a pretty good indicator. 

“Shiro…”

Before Keith can say anything else Shiro is charging him with a broad sweep of his arm that can’t be anything but deadly. Keith barely manages to duck under, quick to pull his knife and spin to block Shiro’s second blow. So begins their deadly duel.

They’re cold and calculated in their fighting methods, neither giving without taking in kind. Keith lashes out with his knife but Shiro blocks with his arm, Shiro throws a punch but Keith dodges to the side. They know each other too well, know the other’s fighting style, know their weaknesses as well as their strengths, know where and when to hit hardest but also when to block and dodge and feint and fall behind to forge ahead. Back and forth they go, in a battle-dance that is as elegant as it is vicious. 

Shiro is out for blood and that is Keith’s greatest weakness: he won’t kill Shiro. He’s knows it’s not really Shiro but it’s his body and his face and there has to still be a chance Keith can break him free of whatever spell he’s under. 

Shiro never gave up on him, not once, and Keith will die before he ever gives up on Shiro, but that is all too real a possibility as they end up with blade and arm locked, Keith on the floor desperately trying to push Shiro back but losing ground with every passing second. There’s only one thing left to do, Keith knows it’s all he can do, but it wasn’t supposed to happen like this and it takes everything Keith has to choke it out.

“I love you."

A last-ditch effort to wake Shiro up or a final confession, Keith can’t be sure. But Shiro pulls his hand away and Keith lets himself hope for only a moment before Shiro’s foot slams down on his wrist, bone breaking with a snap that echoes in the chamber around them. Keith’s blade falls from his hand as he gasps in pain but that brief breath is soon cut short as Shiro’s Galra hand wraps around his neck, lifting him up and off the ground. Keith claws at the metal with his uninjured hand and kicks feebly but it’s no use. Shiro’s grip does not yield.

“Your connection to me runs deep,” Shiro says, and it may be his voice but the words are not his own. “Deeper than the others’. You still believe there is good left inside me, which leaves you… _vulnerable._” 

A feral grin comes across Shiro’s face as his hand tightens further. Keith panics now, still clawing desperately at Shiro’s hand even though he knows it’s pointless. He kicks and claws and trembles as his resolve starts to waver, as his vision becomes blurry then dark spots begin to take over, as his legs twitch and his arms fall and he can’t see Shiro anymore, he can’t see anything. It’s almost like falling asleep. 

Then it’s like dropping into ice cold water as he’s dropped to the floor, gasping and choking on air as he struggles to stand. He makes it as far as his elbows and knees before there’s a hand in his hair, gripping tight as it pulls his head back and then slams it into the metal floor. The pain is immediate, crippling in its intensity, worse than anything Keith’s ever felt before and it’s a fight to just stay conscious. Every heartbeat is pounding in his head, intensifying the waves of pain crashing over Keith’s skull. He desperately wants to get back to his feet but every time he tries his limbs shake and he starts to black out and he feels like he’s going to be sick. Crawling to his knife is out of the question. He can’t do anything but lie and wait for Shiro to finish him. 

He can hear Shiro’s footsteps, the echoes too loud as he walks around Keith’s body, then there’s silence. The moment seems to stretch on for eternity. Then Keith feels hands at the seat of his pants grabbing onto fabric and ripping it apart, nearly pulling him off the ground in the process. Pure, cold fear shoots through Keith’s chest, nausea sudden and overwhelming, and he wants to struggle, wants to scream and kick and bite and fight and crawl away and hide but he can’t. He’s too weak to do anything to stop this, his knife too far away for him to reach, the only way out through Shiro so no way out at all. Shiro’s hands are on him now, stroking his skin, grabbing at him, _squeezing,_ and Keith tries to no avail to push down the panic that’s closing his throat. 

Strategize, he tells himself. Patience, he desperately holds on to. He just has to bide his time. Lose the battle but win the war, though it’s no comfort. He has to wait for the right moment, take advantage of Shiro’s weakness, regain his strength to gain the upper hand. He knows what’s going to happen, knows what he has to do, what he has to let happen. It makes him sick, makes him shake with fear and fury, makes his chest go numb and his legs feel weak and his body go cold all over, but he’ll do what needs to be done. So he clenches his jaw and resolves his will to focus on anything and everything that isn’t Shiro’s hands on his hips, lifting them up, or the hot breath on his bare skin, or the fear that keeps growing in the pit of his stomach. He focuses on the pain in his head and his wrist, the floor beneath him, every pound of his heart and rattling breath, anything and everything because patience yields focus, _oh god._

“I’m going to enjoy this,” Shiro practically _purrs,_ sending hot breath over the most intimate of Keith’s parts and despite himself, Keith shivers. “You will too.”

Shiro gives a slow, long lick with the broad of his tongue right over Keith’s hole. Keith barely hears the almost pained noise he makes as a hot ache shoots through his pelvis, making his stomach drop and his legs shake with something other than pain. Keith tenses, clenches, tries to press his thighs together but they’re forced open by Shiro’s upper arms, his hips held in place by Shiro’s iron grip. 

Shiro licks over his hole again, and again, and again. He’s persistent and rhythmic, never changing pace or pressure, just slow and steady and _wet_ over and over, until Keith can feel Shiro’s spit starting to pool and slip down and the shaking of his limbs isn’t just from weakness. Keith refuses to let out a single noise, choking them down and refusing to give Shiro the satisfaction of hearing his effect. He can feel the moans held back in his throat, wants so badly to let them out because it’s _good_ and that’s the worst part of it all. He isn’t fully hard, whether that’s from the pain in his head or the crippling trauma he can’t say, but he’s getting there. There’s this heat that shoots through him, that pulses right between his pelvic bones with each sure swipe of Shiro’s tongue. He can feel his hole fucking twitch, starting to relax, to open up as the tip of Shiro’s tongue gently probes with every swipe. 

Shiro suddenly falls out of rhythm and Keith only has a moment to panic about what’s going to happen next when Shiro’s mouth presses against his hole, open and hot and _wet_ with spit practically dripping. Then Shiro’s tongue is prodding at— no, _in_ his hole and Keith clenches his jaw so hard that pain pulses in his head and blacks out his vision for a minute. He’s desperately biting back the wounded noise that he wants to let out, breathing between his teeth through the pain and the pleasure. Shiro’s tongue doesn’t breach him completely at first, just the tip dipping in, pushing spit inside bit by bit as it slides in, slicking him up and easing the way as Shiro starts to fuck Keith with his tongue. It’s slow and almost uncomfortably slick as Shiro gradually works his tongue inside him, then he’s pushing it in deeper, as far as he can go, and just holding it there. Keith’s hole is twitching and pulsing around it and Shiro’s grip on Keith’s waist is tightening, holding him in place more securely than before. 

Then he’s pulling his tongue all the way out before wriggling its way inside of him, stretching it out as far as it can reach and fucking _fluttering_ it. Keith buries his face in his arms and shuts his eyes as tight as he can, gasping and panting as he holds back the moans and whines that threaten to spill forth. He wants to cry, can feel his eyes sting with tears and his throat burn but he won’t. Not yet, anyway. He holds on to the last vestiges of strength to keep the tears at bay, to choke down his sobs, to not show just how much this is hurting him. 

Shiro is rimming him in earnest now, using his tongue to explore Keith’s hole and play with his rim, and it feels so good but still so terribly _wrong._ It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it was supposed to be different, it was supposed to be _Shiro_ but it’s not anything like he wanted it to be and that’s what hurts the most. He wanted this, but not _this_. He wonders if that’s why Shiro is doing this, if there’s still a part of Shiro that doesn’t want to hurt him. But maybe he just knows that this hurts Keith more than any pain ever could. 

Keith knows he just has to hold on a bit longer, to wait for the perfect moment. He’s still too weak and Shiro’s still got his guard up. He just has to hold on a little longer, just a little while longer and then this will all be over. 

He keeps his head down, lets his mouth fall open as he lets out shuddering breaths, as his fingernails press hard enough into his arm to make him bleed. It’s a bad position to be in, Keith realizes, as Shiro takes advantage of that to press three metal fingers into his mouth. He doesn’t bite down, thank god, or else he might have broken his teeth, but he does try to pull back which is a mistake in its own way as he pushes himself back on Shiro’s tongue. Shiro’s fingers in his mouth are pulling him back against Shiro’s mouth, making him fuck himself on Shiro’s tongue to avoid choking, and _that_ is what gets to him. Shiro is forcing him to take part in this. He can’t help the noise he makes then, garbled around Shiro’s fingers, but the desperation is evident nonetheless. 

Shiro’s fingers start to fuck his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, poking and jabbing back and Keith is thankful for the pain, thankful for every spasm of his throat those fingers elicit because it’s better than focusing on how every pull is met with the slide of Shiro’s tongue inside him. He’s heaving and gagging and thankful for every moment of it because this is _easy._ It’s easier to deal with and easier to take than when Shiro is gentle. It’s easier to remember that this isn't Shiro. 

He can’t tell whether his tears are from the pain or the relief. 

Finally Shiro pulls his fingers out of Keith’s mouth but Keith only has a moment of peace before the panic grows as Shiro pulls his tongue out of Keith’s hole as well, giving one last lick over such an intimate place before his head is pulling away entirely too. Keith can’t help himself now. He tries to struggle, tries to move away, but then Shiro’s human hand is tangled in his hair too tight, slamming his head into the floor once again. Keith actually blacks out from the pain this time but it must only be for a few moments because when he wakes up, it’s to the sensation of one of Shiro’s spit-slick metal fingers rubbing over his hole. Panic seizes his chest as pain pulses in his head and Keith gasps as the finger prods, pushing so slow and gentle until just the tip is resting inside of Keith. 

Shiro starts to fuck his finger in, pulling back a bit to push forward ever so slightly, slow and steady and controlled until his entire finger is in Keith’s ass. It feels so _wrong,_ so much worse than Shiro’s tongue somehow, because for what it lacks in intimacy it makes up for in clinicality, and as Shiro starts to explore inside him with his finger it feels like he’s searching for something. 

Keith knows what Shiro’s doing, what he’s looking for, and even as weakened as he is and as much pain as he’s in, Keith tries to squirm away. It’s to no avail though as Shiro presses down with his finger just right and a jolt of heat surges through Keith. Shiro rubs over that spot mercilessly, circling with the tip of his finger and sending hot, pulsing aches through Keith’s pelvis. There’s this pervasive feeling of _wrong_ that comes with it, that makes Keith’s throat hurt and his stomach turn and Keith chokes down every moan and sob that threatens to spill.

When Shiro stops Keith doesn’t have a chance to feel any sense of relief as Shiro is pulling out his finger and replacing it with two, fucking them in a bit at a time, scissoring them and stretching them apart. The stretch doesn’t hurt but it’s not exactly bearable, and it only becomes worse when Keith clenches as Shiro’s fingers start to play with his prostate again. Keith can’t help the way his hips twitch, the way his legs tremble and his breath comes out in shaky exhales, can’t help the way he’s fully hard now, a bead of precum at his tip dripping down to the metal floor. He can’t help the way it feels so good despite being so _wrong._

Too soon the fingers are pulling out and then there’s three, three of Shiro’s metal fingers slowly fucking their way inside him, spit barely managing to slick the way. The stretch is nearly painful now, starts to get there as Shiro moves his fingers, begins to open him up, but then they’re fucking in further and Keith can’t help the hard sigh he lets out as they slide all the way in. 

They’re pressing against his prostate now, brushing over it a bit before Shiro’s pressing against it with force. They stay there for a moment, motionless, and Keith is breathing deeply through his nose and trying not to rock his hips but then Shiro is _wriggling_ his fingers, right up against Keith’s prostate, tapping against it in quick succession. Keith’s chest heaves and his legs shake and there’s a hot ache in his pelvis he can’t ignore. He clenches down, tries to push Shiro’s fingers out, tries to cut Shiro off by pressing his thighs together and tries to squirm away. But Shiro just pins him down with a hand on the back of his neck and continues to torture Keith’s prostate. 

Keith’s entire body is twitching by the time Shiro stops, finally pulling his fingers out, but then Shiro is flipping Keith on his back and moving quickly to straddle his chest, pinning his arms against his sides. Shiro’s metal hand grips his jaw too hard and the other tangles in his hair too tight and Keith’s eyes are wide as Shiro forces his jaw open.

“Try to bite and I’ll break your jaw.”

Shiro squeezes his jaw in warning, sending pain shooting through his head again, then he’s letting go of Keith’s hair and pulling his own cock out and Keith feels tears start to well in his eyes once more. He’s powerless to stop them from falling. Shiro keeps him held in place as he takes his cock in hand, rubbing the tip against Keith’s lips to see the way Keith’s cheeks turn blotchy red and tears spill from his eyes even harder, then his hand holds tight enough to leave bruises on Keith’s jaw as he fucks into Keith’s mouth with a leisurely pace that’s still brutally forceful. 

Keith gags on every thrust, throat spasming around the head of Shiro’s cock as he fucks it into his throat. Shiro doesn’t pay him any mind as he continues to roll his hips, fucking into the warm heat of Keith’s mouth. He tangles his hands in Keith’s hair again, pulls him closer, farther down onto his cock, and when he finally manages to force Keith to deepthroat him he holds Keith there, little thrusts of his hips fucking down Keith’s throat even as he chokes around Shiro’s cock. Then Shiro is pulling him off, pulling out, and Keith is heaving in breaths that don’t reach his lungs.

Shiro is moving away now, down his body to settle between his legs and Keith knows that this is it now. There’s nothing to stop this from happening. 

There’s no panic in his chest anymore, just an exhausted resignation as Shiro pushes his legs further apart. The adrenaline that was rushing through him before has dissipated, leaving him numb and dissociated and just waiting for it to all be over. His heart still pounds too loud in his chest and he can’t stop himself from crying but he’s as ready as he’ll ever be. He goes limp, falling into place, his head resting on the floor and turned to the side so he doesn’t have to look at Shiro. 

This will all be over soon, he tells himself as the head of Shiro’s cock presses between his cheeks, against his hole. Soon, he tells himself as Shiro hikes his legs up, Keith’s knees thrown over his elbows. Then he’s starting to press in and there’s one last surge of fear and terror and panic and _oh god it’s happening,_ then the head is inside him and Keith’s last real thought is wishing Shiro had taken him from behind. 

Shiro is sliding in slow, too slow, and Keith shuts his eyes and cries as Shiro fucks into him gently, pushing all the way inside. Keith’s chest is heaving and his throat burns as Shiro just stays there for a moment, completely inside him, _ruining_ him, and it _hurts._

It hurts because it’s Shiro but it’s _not._ It hurts because he’s never done this before, never done anything like this. It hurts because he wanted this, he wanted Shiro like this, but not like this. It hurts because it wasn’t supposed to happen like _this._

After what seems like too long and not long enough, Shiro pulls out slowly and starts fucking Keith at a pace that can’t be anything other than intimate. 

Keith is crying harder now, breath coming out in hiccups as he sniffles and his face contorts with effort of keeping as silent as he can. Shiro’s cock is rubbing against his prostate with every thrust, his hands coming to rest against Keith’s ribs, almost holding him. There’s a burning ache in Keith’s pelvis unlike anything he’s ever felt before. It makes him squirm and gasp and feel weak, _so fucking weak,_ because he’s being forced to enjoy this. He wishes it hurt, wishes there was pain and torment, but there’s enough spit to function even with more friction than Keith is entirely comfortable with and it just adds to the heat that pulses with every thrust. 

Keith forces himself to relax, tries not to clench down or seize up, but he can’t help himself. Every time he does, Shiro lets out a soft moan or a growl and though Keith still has his eyes shut and his head turned away, he can’t escape the mental image of Shiro over him, fucking him, the way his skin shines with a sheen of sweat, his hair mussed, eyes half-lidded with pupils blown wide as he pants through a lax mouth. His hands are hot against Keith’s skin, pressing into his ribs and pulling him back to meet each of Shiro’s thrusts, holding him in place as Keith unconsciously tries to squirm away. 

Then Shiro’s dropping forward, pushing Keith’s knees up to his chest as Shiro _rolls_ his hips forward and it feels good, better than before, and Keith _hates_ it. Shiro continues like that, deep, slow rolls of his hips as he drops his head to Keith’s neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against his skin, biting and licking and sucking marks into him. Keith winces at every wet smack of Shiro’s mouth, at every echoing thwack of Shiro’s skin against his, at the sound of Shiro’s panting breaths and at the sound of his own, gasping and broken. Shiro is moaning, low sounds that Keith can feel against his skin, and it _hurts_ because it sounds like Shiro and it feels like Shiro but it’s _not._

Keith knows he’s getting close, can feel himself drawing up to that edge, and he fights it as hard as he can. He doesn’t want to come, not like this, not _from_ this, but more importantly he needs to hold out so when the time comes he can finish this fight for good. He needs to keep his awareness, needs to be able to think clearly, needs to be patient so he can focus. He listens carefully to the way Shiro’s breathing changes, how his gasps become more ragged, his moans broken, his breath coming out in hot pants. He feels the way the controlled roll of Shiro’s hips lose coordination, turning to staccato-sharp thrusts without rhythm. Shiro drops Keith’s legs to the ground, forearms coming up to rest on the floor either side of Keith’s head, and against every one of Keith’s instincts to do otherwise he wraps his legs around Shiro’s torso, strong thighs gripping at his waist and pulling him closer, heels pressing into Shiro’s back and urging him on.

Keith is crying harder now, hating every moment, every movement he makes, but he forces himself to do what needs to be done. He tangles a hand in Shiro’s hair, tugging but not too hard, rolls his hips up to meet Shiro’s thrusts which have grown frantic. Shiro can’t do anything but pant and moan against Keith’s cheek and Keith can feel his own need starting to reach a peak as well. It’s intense, the ache and heat building between his pelvis, almost too much even as it’s not enough, and Keith knows that he won’t be able to hold off much longer, but he has to. 

Keith tightens his legs around Shiro’s waist, grips his hand in Shiro’s hair harder and pulls him back, turns his head to face Shiro as he opens his eyes, staring directly at Shiro through his tears.

He puts as much love into his voice as he can when he brokenly gasps out, _“Takashi.”_

Shiro groans and drops his head, mouth latching onto Keith’s collarbone and biting so hard Keith bleeds. The pain is grounding until Keith realizes that the wound will scar, that Shiro is _permanently marking him,_ ensuring that Keith will always have a reminder of what happened here. The horror is almost overwhelming but emotions are a luxury Keith can’t afford at the moment, so Keith represses the pain and the anguish and the utter humiliation because there’s no time for any of it, not now. Shiro is coming inside Keith with a guttural groan and it’s time. 

Keith grips Shiro’s hair as tight as he can, pins Shiro’s waist with his legs, and uses all the strength he has left in his body and mind to pull Shiro’s head back and slam it into the floor beside his head. 

When Shiro's lifeless body slumps over Keith it’s perfectly disastrous. His cock slips out just enough so the head pushes right against Keith’s prostate, Keith’s own cock ends up pressed between their stomachs, and the inevitable is upon him. Keith comes with a wail of pure grief, fighting it all the way even as he trembles and his hips buck uncontrollably while he ruts against Shiro’s stomach, spilling between their bodies. 

As he comes down he clutches onto an unconscious Shiro, not bothering to hold back his sobs as he finally lets himself give in to the hurt.


	2. Post Tenebras Spero Lucem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Stab the body and it heals, but injure the heart and the wound lasts a lifetime.”_  
― Mineko Iwasaki

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> regular updates? what are those?
> 
> seriously though, I'm so sorry that this next installment has taken so long. if you couldn't tell, this story is very personal to me and is oftentimes very difficult to write. I have written a significant portion of this fic though so I will be posting updates twice a week. If you're new to this story, welcome! if you're returning, thank you for sticking with me even through my short hiatus. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter and the rest of the chapters to come.

Eventually, Keith gets up. 

His tears have stopped and his sobs have turned to wet hiccups and sniffles. The pain in his head and wrist is almost easy to ignore now as a pervasive numbness has taken over him, the panic and fear and grief all washed away with apathy for the moment. It’s easy to roll Shiro’s body off his own, easy to ignore the whimper that escapes him as Shiro’s soft cock slips out of his body. It’s easy to stumble to his feet, to ignore his ruined suit and limp over to retrieve his knife, and with the familiar weight in his hand he finds it easy to figure out what to do next. 

He locates the control panel and sets the cloning facility to self-destruct without a second thought. Then he limps over to Shiro’s unconscious body and loops his right arm around Shiro’s knee, grabbing Shiro’s left hand with his uninjured one and, with great struggle, pulls him up and across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Keith staggers to the elevator like that, leaning against the wall as they ascend, and he manages to find the strength to stumble back to the Black Lion as he steadfastly ignores Shiro’s cum dripping down his thighs.

He struggles up the ramp, barely managing to make it inside before he’s dropping Shiro’s body in the back of the cockpit. It’s difficult to pilot the Black Lion with only one working hand but he manages, if barely so. As he finally succeeds in getting the Lion out into space he doesn’t bother to look at the bright white explosion that goes off behind him. He resolutely stares forward, paying no heed to the ache in his throat or the tremble of his lips or the tears that gather in his eyes and blur his vision. 

The Black Lion is practically flying itself now, giving Keith a chance to take a breath and figure out what to do next. They’re on a course back to the Castle but they’re still too far away to pick up the others’ comms so Keith has at least a little while to get himself back into order. 

He methodically strips out of his paladin armor, piece after piece dropping to the floor with heavy thunks that he can’t help but flinch at. He strips off his ruined undersuit as well, using its tattered remains to clean Shiro’s cum from the inside of his thigh. He starts crying silently when he dips his fingers in his hole, the fabric of his suit rough on his abused insides. Eventually he gets as cleaned up as he can and he sets about treating his wounds. 

First is his wrist, which is throbbing in a way that can’t mean anything good. Keith has to set it and he doesn’t make a noise at the pain, he just shuts his eyes and bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. Once he’s done with that the pain is worse but he can wiggle his fingers a little better and it will have to do for now. He makes a makeshift splint with the supplies from the medkit, which is a challenge on its own with only one functional hand, but it’s just in place until he can get back to the Castle and get inside a healing pod. 

Next is the bite mark on his collarbone. It’s already scabbed over, the smears of blood on his skin gone brown. He wipes it down, careful not to reopen the wound, and patches it with a piece of gauze. After that it’s just disinfecting minor scrapes and cuts. His head is still pounding and his wrist still throbs, but it’s manageable. It has to be.

He puts on his Blade of Marmora suit, the familiar material offering comfort in its security, and then suddenly it all hits him. He collapses on the floor in exhaustion, leaning against the back of the pilot’s chair and hugging his legs to his chest. He buries his face between his knees, mouth open but the scream he wants to let out is silent. All he can do is let the horror wash over him, let the tears fall down his face, let his throat close around the wounded sobs that want to escape. 

He can’t tear his eyes away from Shiro’s unconscious body. He’s not sure what he’s more afraid of: that Shiro will die, or that he’ll wake up. 

When the comms come back on, Keith can hear the Paladins losing the battle against Lotor. He’s too much for the four of them, they need Voltron, where’s Keith?

Keith is still too far away but he has to at least try. So he wipes his tears and gets to his feet, sits down in the pilot’s seat, and he puts everything he has into pushing Black faster. He ignores the pain still pounding in his head and stabbing through his wrist. He ignores the sound of his friends being beaten down, ignores the feeling of being broken, ignores the lifeless body of Shiro still behind him. He pushes down his fear and his anger and his pain and his heartache and puts every last thing left in himself into pushing the Black Lion forward. 

He swears he can feel a phantom hand on his shoulder, the weight so sickeningly familiar, and it takes everything he has not to puke and start sobbing. He can’t keep the tears from falling as he thinks he hears a whispered, “I’m sorry,” echo throughout the cockpit, and the Black Lion sprouts wings.

☍

They manage to beat Lotor, a feat that seemed nearly impossible, and they make their way out of the quintessence field tired but not defeated. The castle is barely functional, in dire need of repairs, but it’s still standing and so are they, which is a miracle in and of itself.

The battle was hard fought and harder won, taking its toll on each of the paladins. Keith had dropped Shiro off at the Castle before joining the others in the fight, leaving Coran to put him in stasis. After that it was easy for Keith to throw himself into the chaos, to focus on the battle without thinking about everything that had just happened. He couldn’t afford to think about Shiro or pay attention to the pain his body was in, he had to focus on the fight and make sure that they all made it out alive. Keith was the Black Paladin, everyone looked to him, he had to step up and be the leader they needed.

But there were times that Keith could swear he felt another presence in the Lion with him, a voice that he couldn’t quite hear, invisible hands guiding him through the fight. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, made his stomach drop, made his throat close up but he ignored all of that. The team needed him to lead them through this, they needed him to be the unwavering force that pulled them together into one, and Keith was not going to let them down. Especially not after everything that happened.

As per usual though they saved the day and the universe, ever the victors in an unending war against tyranny and oppression.

They land in the hangar bays, all of them practically stumbling out of their Lions with weariness heavy on their heads and shoulders. They all look like they’ve taken a beating, bodies sore and eyes sunken in tiredness, but there is still much that needs to be done. The Castle needs significant repairs to get it back up and running, and of course there’s the whole issue of Shiro being a clone. 

Keith tells them a highly edited version of what happened, explaining everything to them as they stand there and stare at him with expressions of confusion and disbelief. Keith would be skeptical as well if he hadn’t witnessed it, hadn’t lived through what he did. Nobody seems to have any idea what to say or do, not quite knowing what this means. Lance is the first to speak, bringing up that Shiro didn’t remember talking to him on the astral plane but Shiro _was_ there, he tried to tell Lance something, and pure, unadulterated fear shoots through Keith with the realization that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t imagining things. The voice, the presence in the Black Lion, it was real, it was Shiro, and Keith can’t help the way his legs start to shake and his hands go numb.

Allura seems to know what to do, approaching the Black Lion and looking at it pensively for a few moments before placing her hands on it. Everyone watches in awe as she begins to glow, pulling Shiro’s essence from the Black Lion then making her way over to Shiro’s still unconscious body. They both begin to glow then, so bright that the others have to turn their faces away, but when the glow fades and they turn back to look at them the difference is palpable. Shiro’s hair is pure white now, and Keith is thankful as it’s at least one thing that’s different between the real Shiro and the one that did… _that_ to him. They all stand and stare expectantly as Shiro groans and opens his eyes to look around at all of them. He doesn’t say anything, just looks around at all of them but the expression on his face speaks volumes. They know now that Shiro, _their_ Shiro, is back. 

Then Shiro looks at Keith and his mouth turns in a small smile that makes Keith want to vomit.

“You saved me,” he says, voice hoarse and rasping, then promptly passes out.

They’re quick to put Shiro in a healing pod, hoping that the time spent in it will not only rejuvenate him but give his mind some time to merge his memories with those of the clone’s. Eventually, one by one the paladins make their way out of the room, heading back to their own quarters to get some very needed and much deserved rest. All of them leave except for Keith, who just sits and stares, watching and waiting, hoping and praying that Shiro comes back even though it makes his hands tremble. He’s there through most of the night, stuck in place, unable to move because he’s afraid that if he looks away for even a moment then the other Shiro will be back. Allura stops by every now and again to see how he’s doing and to check on Shiro but she doesn’t try to talk to him, just gives him a tired but reassuring smile before she heads back to the bridge to continue to try and get the Castle back up and running. Keith knows she must be exhausted but he’s glad that she’s working so hard; he’s ready to leave all of this behind, to head back to Earth. 

By the time the other paladins wake up Keith is utterly exhausted, barely able to keep his eyes open. Pidge is the first to come by, bringing with her a toolbox and some spare parts. She spends the better part of an hour working on Shiro’s arm, rewiring it and uploading her own custom tech into it. She says his arm will be better than before and Keith believes her. 

Lance comes by next, ducking in and lingering in the doorway before making his way over to Keith.

“He’s going to be alright,” he says, gently placing a hand on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith wants to scream, wants to run and hide and cry at the feeling of pure terror that Lance’s hand on his shoulder elicits, but he doesn’t. He pulls away from Lance as quickly as he can, knowing that Lance is concerned but not caring because good fucking god, he can’t stand to be touched. Lance leaves eventually, though not without looking at Keith with a strange expression on his face akin to worry but also with a hint of distrust. Keith knows he looks a mess, knows he’s acting strangely, too aloof even for him, but he can’t be bothered to care right now. 

Krolia stops by and she immediately knows something is wrong. She looks at him, gaze calculating, but doesn’t say anything, just waits for him to speak first. Keith shakes his head, says, “I don’t want to talk about it,” but really he does.

He wants to talk, wants to yell and scream and beat his fists bloody against the walls until someone listens, but he can’t. Every time he tries his throat closes up and the words die somewhere between his tongue and his lips. He can’t bring himself to talk about it, he just can’t. 

Krolia nods and leaves him to continue to stare at Shiro, and that’s all he does, all that he can do. He sits there and stares as the paladins run about the Castle making repairs, stares when they poke their heads in from time to time to check on him or on Shiro, stares as they meet on the bridge and make plans without him, stares when they leave in the Lions to gather supplies, stares the entire time they’re gone. It’s been nearly two days now and he hasn’t slept, hasn’t put himself through a cycle in the healing pods, hasn’t tended to his wounds and injuries or changed out of his Blade of Marmora suit. He hasn’t done anything but sit and stare at Shiro, and he continues to do so. He sits there and stares until the paladins return and decide it’s time to wake Shiro up.

He’s so tired, completely and utterly exhausted both physically and emotionally, but he stays to watch as they shut down the pod’s healing cycle and open it up, helping Shiro out. Everyone is happy to see him, hugging him and welcoming him back and talking about how grateful they are that he’s okay. They badger him with questions about everything, barely giving him any time to answer one query before they’re asking him another. Shiro takes it all in stride, obviously still tired but making sure to thank them all and answer their questions and even summoning the energy for a small smile. 

Keith does not take part in any of this. He stays at the edge of the room, leaning up against the wall, watching everything happen with a small frown on his face and his brows creased in concern. He doesn’t know what to expect, doesn’t know if Shiro will remember what his clone did, doesn’t know if he wants Shiro to remember. It would be easier if he didn’t, easier for everyone, but at the same time Keith thinks that he needs Shiro to know, couldn’t stand it if Shiro just went back to treating him the same way he always did, not knowing the pain his body had caused Keith. But still, it would all be easier if he didn’t remember, if this secret was only Keith’s to keep, if only Keith had to bear the burden of shame and guilt. It would be easier, Keith thinks, but he’s never been very good at easy, and neither has Shiro. 

So he stands against the wall and stares until Shiro finally, _finally_ looks his way, and the expression on his face doesn’t change but Keith knows him far too well. He can see Shiro’s pain in the way his jaw tenses, as his smile grows just a little too thin, the way he fights to keep his eyebrows from furrowing and the way his eyes widen ever so slightly. Keith knows that no one else but him will notice, and even if they did they would probably just write it off as guilt for nearly killing Keith, but he knows the truth. He can see it in Shiro’s face plain as day.

Shiro remembers. 

For the first time since he got back, Keith looks away from Shiro. He drops his gaze to the floor and walks out of the room without saying a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos fuel my self esteem


	3. Factum Fieri Infectum Non Potest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.”_  
― William Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What’s this? An update… on time?

Even with Lotor defeated, there is still much to do before the universe is at peace. 

Galra generals still fight for control of the remaining forces of the Empire, factions continue to fight over territories, and many planets still desperately need help to reclaim and rebuild their homes. The Galran Empire ruled for ten thousand years, leaving destruction and suffering in its wake. There are those that have never lived freely, that don’t know how, and those that don’t remember a time before Zarkon. Still, with each day the Voltron Coalition grows stronger and hope for the future burns brighter. 

Shiro has returned to piloting the Black Lion and with it comes leading Voltron. Keith is glad the burden is no longer on his shoulders; it was not a role he took on voluntarily. When Keith was in the Black Lion he never felt as though he was its true paladin, rather he was just the next best thing after Shiro. Shiro, who was always its true paladin, who was always the true leader of Voltron. Keith could never live up to him, and he’s grateful he no longer has to try.

Allura has left behind the mantle of Paladin entirely. Instead she pilots the Castle alongside fostering relations in regards to the Voltron Coalition. She is as much a diplomat as she is a fighter and the coalition continues to flourish under her leadership. Voltron may win fights and restore hope to people who had all but lost it, but it’s Allura who really does the hard work. From meeting with planetary representatives to organizing the Freedom Fighters’ forces, arranging supply drops and relief teams where needed, and altogether spreading both peace and stability throughout the universe. It is no easy task, but Allura makes it seem as though it is nothing.

Lance, of course, returns to the Blue Lion. Even though he was Red’s paladin for a while, their bond was one of necessity rather than choice. While Keith was in the Black Lion he needed a strong right hand and Lance was the one for the job. But now, with Shiro back in the Black Lion and Allura no longer a paladin at all, Lance and Keith are blessed with the opportunity to return to their Lions once more.

It’s good to be back in Red. She’s familiar in a way that the Black Lion never could be. He has a bond with Red that’s unique among the paladins. As temperamental as she is, she is fiercely protective, and he feels almost as though she’s comforting him when he’s piloting her. She works with him, understands what he wants to do and helps him do it. If he needs to bank hard she picks up on that and banks with him, aids him in making turns and twists that would otherwise be impossible. He’s a good pilot, always has been, but Red makes him a great one. Their bond is deep, stronger than the other paladin’s bonds with their Lions, and Keith feels like he’s coming home when he sits in her pilot’s chair for the first time again.

It’s nostalgic in a way, Keith supposes, to have the original team back together again. Everyone seems to be happy about the changes, happy Shiro is back and leading them once more. He brings with him the advantages of age and experience, and unlike Keith he is a natural leader. People want to follow him, inherently trust in him to lead them. Everyone feels safer, more secure, with Shiro in command. Even Allura, as much as she loved being a Paladin of Voltron, is finding enjoyment in her diplomatic duties; Coran is certainly enjoying the hors d'oeuvres. 

Besides enjoying the catering that comes with diplomacy, Coran has taken Romelle under his wing. He’s teaching her all about the Altea of old and showing her the technological magnificence of the ship. She’s eager to learn and her mind is quicker than she lets on, and soon she has mechanical skills to rival Hunk’s. He’s not complaining, though, as with Romelle and Coran working alongside him and Pidge, the Castle is quickly coming back into fighting shape. It’s nearly fully functional again, the only major issue being that the teledove is damaged beyond repair and they no longer have the ability to wormhole. It’s not as much of an issue as it seems, though. 

Despite Earth being so far away, the course they’ve plotted, though winding, takes them past a multitude of planets that are either newly freed from Galra control, part of the Voltron coalition and in need of diplomatic direction, or eager to join up with the saviors of the universe. It will take them a while but Allura stresses that strengthening their alliances with as many planets as possible is vital to removing any remaining Galra factions in power. Though everyone is eager to return home, they all agree that it’s probably for the best; just the fact that they’re on the (albeit long) road to Earth has boosted everyone’s spirits tenfold.

All in all, things are good. Everything and everyone is fine, including Keith.

No, really. He is. Fine, that is. He doesn’t think about what happened. He barely acknowledges that it really did happen. It’s almost deceptively easy to do so as it all just feels like some weird, bad dream. He remembers it, remembers that it happened, knows for a fact that it happened, but in a way it feels like it never happened to _him._ It’s as though it was someone else’s memory in his head. The scar on his collarbone is an unfortunate reminder so he keeps it covered as much as possible, avoiding mirrors as best he can. He sleeps fine when he does sleep, and maybe he’s a bit jumpier than usual, always looking over his shoulder, tense and prepared for a fight, but it’s not that big of a deal. Sometimes nothing feels real and he spends hours just sitting and staring at a wall, thinking too much about everything that doesn’t matter, but eventually those moments pass and he’s back to his usual moody self. 

There are some things that are different but they’re subtle changes, nothing that gets in his way or that anyone else might notice. He keeps his back to the wall when he can, sits farther away from everyone so there’s nothing and no one that isn’t in his line of sight. He’s quieter as well, even for him. He doesn’t bother to speak unless spoken to or unless he absolutely has to. Even Lance can no longer provoke him into dropping some sarcastic retort regarding his stupidity. Keith prefers to remain quiet, in the background, unnoticed but still aware of everything and everyone. 

Then there’s Shiro.

It’s not terrible between them. Keith can share a room with Shiro, can fight beside him, can take orders from him and form Voltron with him, so everything is fine. He still stays as far away from Shiro as he can without raising suspicion, doesn’t speak to him or even look at him, and Shiro does the same. Yeah, okay, so maybe Keith’s skin will crawl and he’ll start to feel sick whenever Shiro’s voice comes through the speakers of his helmet but that’s easy enough to ignore in the middle of a fight. And sure, sometimes just being in the same room as Shiro will make Keith feel like he can’t breathe and his whole body is going numb, but that never lasts too long. And yes, there are too many times when Keith can’t stand the sight of Shiro and feels like he wants to cry anytime he so much as catches a glimpse of Shiro’s face, but he’s really good at holding back tears and ignoring the way his throat aches or finding a believable excuse to run to his room and bury his sobs in his pillow, so it’s fine. Really. Keith can deal with it. 

Shiro doesn’t acknowledge that it ever happened and Keith isn’t quite sure if that’s a good thing or not. He’s glad he doesn’t have to face it, doesn’t have to face Shiro about it, but the silence messes with his head a bit. It makes him doubt himself, makes him wonder if it ever really happened, if maybe it really was just a bad dream because that’s all that it feels like. Just a bad dream, a nightmare, not real, not tangible, existing only in his mind and nowhere else. But then he’ll catch a glimpse in the mirror of the scar on his collarbone peeking up over his shirt collar and suddenly it will all feel far too real, like blood in the back of his throat and his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. 

He doesn’t blame Shiro though, because it _wasn’t_ Shiro. Not really, anyway. But it was his face and his body and his voice and all Keith needs is a little time to forget the feeling of Shiro on him, the feeling of Shiro _inside_ him, but there’s nothing to forgive because Shiro did nothing wrong. It wasn’t Shiro, not really, and Keith isn’t traumatized. He doesn’t feel traumatized, anyway.

He’s not in denial about it. Sure, he’s not exactly acknowledging that it happened and yeah, sometimes he thinks that maybe it was all in his head, but he doesn’t outright deny it. He’s not suffering from mood swings, or at least not any mood swings worse than usual. He doesn’t have anxiety or fear about anything, except sometimes he can be a bit paranoid, more jumpy than usual, but he’s not constantly living in fear, not really. And he’s not really withdrawing from the others, as they were never really close to begin with, and he did just get back from two years away from them so obviously there will be a bit of an adjustment period. And yes, he does feel guilty and ashamed, and he does partially blame himself for what happened, and there seems to be a pervasive sense of sadness that worms its way under his skin and into his heart, and more often than not he feels disconnected from everything, numb to everything, but he’s fine. Really. He’s not on the verge of breaking down so he’s _fine._

The only thing he can’t handle is being touched. 

Whenever someone tries he pulls away before they can. If they manage to make contact then he shrugs them off, jerking back and away and not bothering to look at the confused expression on their faces. It’s just too much. It sends a sudden surge of panic through him, regardless of who it is or their intention. It makes his stomach drop and his throat close up and his skin feels so uncomfortable that he wants to scratch it all off, through the muscle and down to the bone. That doesn’t matter though, because he can handle it. It’s fine, unless it’s Shiro that touches him. 

That doesn’t happen often. Only a few times really, because they both keep their distance and their silence. But when they’re trying so hard to pretend nothing happened they almost start to believe nothing did and mistakes are made. Shiro’s hand will end up on his shoulder or his back or gripping his upper arm and Keith freezes. He goes stock still, paralyzed by the simple touch, and stares and stares at wherever Shiro is touching him, wherever they’re making contact, until eventually Shiro realizes and pulls away, sudden and jarring as though he’s just been burned. They’re not obvious enough about it that anyone else will notice, but Keith has always known Shiro too well. His hand will hover in the air for just a moment too long and Keith will stare because he can’t look Shiro in the eye, can’t bear to see the pained expression on his face as he tries to pretend everything is fine, so he’ll just stay stock still and stare at Shiro’s hand until he drops it back to his side. Then Keith will leave and try to ignore the way his body shakes and the pressure that builds in his chest and the sickness that settles in his stomach. But really, he’s fine. He can deal with it. For the most part, at least.

Nobody seems to realize that anything happened. Keith supposes he should be thankful that no one suspects anything, but part of him wants them to realize that something isn’t entirely right, that things have changed. He doesn’t actually want them to know about what happened, but it feels so strange to him, how everyone moves forward as though everything is still the same. Well, to them everything _is_ the same, but Keith’s entire world had been turned upside down and inside out and he couldn’t help but wish that somebody, _anybody_ would notice. 

Krolia is the only one who seems to realize that Keith’s fight with Shiro has changed him. Even after all the time they’ve spent together, their relationship is tenuous and it’s obvious that she doesn’t want to push Keith in fear of pushing him away. Not that it really matters though, because she’s leaving to join up with the Blade of Marmora again. Their numbers are lacking severely as it is and they need everyone they can get, especially now that Keith has returned to Voltron. Not to mention that there isn’t really anything that Krolia can do in the Castle. It’s for the best, really. Keith understands that. 

Part of Keith wishes he could go with her. The Blades have become like a family to him. An emotionally stunted, incredibly dysfunctional family, but a family nonetheless, and he can’t help but miss them. There is a part of him which longs to leave Voltron behind, leave _Shiro_ behind, but he knows that he can’t. He’s needed here. Both he and Krolia have missions that are greater than themselves, that are greater than each other, but it still feels like his world is beginning to break apart at the seams.

“I'm sorry to have to say goodbye to you for a second time,” Krolia tells him.

He knows that she’s not abandoning him and yet there’s still a part of him that can’t help but feel that way.

It seems like he just got her back, like he was finally going to have a family again, and even the two years they spent together on the Quantum Abyss whale no longer seem like enough time. But this is for the best, and Keith understands that. The mission, above all else. That is the way of the Blades.

“There’s so much work to be done, for all of us.”

And she’s right. The Galra factions, though disorganized and often warring with each other, still pose a significant threat to the universe. There are still planets under Galra rule, scores of refugees that need new homes, entire star systems that are in dire need of aid. Voltron, the Blades, and even the Freedom Fighters have so much to do before the universe is truly at peace once more. 

“It's not goodbye,” Keith says, and he hates the way his voice breaks, hates the way it makes Krolia’s face crumble.

He doesn’t want her to think he’s weak.

“I love you, Keith. And I want you to remember, I’m always here for you.”

“I love you too, and I know,” Keith says, and he wishes he could let her be. 

“Thanks for everything you taught me, Mom,” he manages to choke out, and before he realizes what’s happening, before he can put a stop to it, Krolia is pulling him into a tight hug.

He thought he’d be okay, that this would be fine, she’s his _mom,_ but it’s terrible, it’s awful, it makes bile rise in the back of his throat as his legs threaten to give out and his whole body quivers with the urge to run, hide, _get away._ When Krolia finally lets go of him it feels like a lifetime later, and he barely manages to hold back his sobs until she leaves. The moment the door closes behind her he’s dropping to his knees, no doubt bruising himself in the process, and burying his face in his hands as his mouth opens in a silent scream. The tears stream down his face and a wounded noise makes its way out of his throat as he curls in on himself, his entire body shaking with the force of his sobs. For fuck’s sake, he can’t even hug his own mother without wanting to rip his skin off. But really, he’s fine.

The business of saving the universe goes on, and he and Shiro go on too. They live together, they work together, they fight together and everything is fine. Until Shiro tries to talk to him.

It’s late at night, far too late for anyone to be awake and yet Keith is on the training deck. He’s been running simulations for nearly two hours already, desperate to work off the energy thrumming through his veins, to get his head to quiet. It doesn’t work, it never really works, but it’s still a temporary distraction.

He turns around to grab some water only to find Shiro standing in the doorway, watching him, waiting for him. Keith freezes, stays standing in the middle of the room as his chest rises and falls with his rapid breaths, as his hands unclench from fists to hang loosely by his side, as he unconsciously flicks his hair away from his face. Shiro doesn’t move either, just stays in his place in the doorway. That’s all they do, just stand there and stare at one another. 

For the first time since all this has happened, Shiro doesn’t look like he’s trying to pretend everything is fine. He’s older than all of them, more experienced, more weathered, but he looks so much older than Keith can ever remember seeing him. His frown lines are more pronounced, set deeper into his skin. The bags under his eyes betray just how utterly exhausted he truly is, even though he tries his best to hide it from the others. There’s a slump to his shoulders as though he wants to curl in on himself but he’s spent so much of his life holding his shoulders high that he doesn’t quite know how. He looks as though he’s in pain, as though he’s grieving, as though he’s given up. He looks like he’s been broken.

Keith wants to hold him tight and tell him everything is okay, tell him it’s all fine because it is. He knows it wasn’t really Shiro and he doesn’t blame Shiro for what happened, but he knows that Shiro blames himself. It’s almost worse that way because Shiro doesn’t deserve that guilt, that pain, but Keith knows that Shiro will still carry it with him no matter what he says.

They stand and they stare and neither of them know what to say. Neither of them know what can be said. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. 

He shouldn’t be apologizing because it’s not his fault. It wasn’t Shiro, he didn’t do anything wrong, he doesn’t owe Keith an apology but he says it anyway. Keith can’t tell if he needed to hear it or needed it to never be said, but he knows Shiro needed to say it. They both know it’s nowhere near enough, that there’s not anything that’s ever going to be enough. They can’t fix this no matter how hard they try. They’ll never be able to go back to how they were before. They will never truly get past this, and that is what hurts the most.

They’ve lost one another and they’re lost to each other, and it’s by no fault of their own yet still they must bear the weight of consequences neither of them deserve. 

“Me too,” Keith says, and it’s all he can say, all that can be said, and something in Shiro seems to break at that. He nods and walks away, the doors closing behind him and leaving Keith to start another training simulation.

Keith does fine because he _is_ fine. His focus is as sharp as ever, his technique impeccable and deadly precise. He runs through simulation after simulation, leveling up and up and up. It’s not long before he beats his personal best, and it’s a few levels after that when the exhaustion and fatigue finally take their toll on him. He gets knocked down and ends up on all fours on the floor, the fighter droid towering above him, and that’s when it all comes crashing down. The trauma, the reality, _everything_ hits him. 

It’s sudden and jarring, knocking the breath out of his chest, stealing the strength from his limbs, and throwing any semblance of pretending he’s fine right out of the fucking airlock. 

“End simulation!” 

He barely manages to gasp it out before he’s breaking down, pressing his face into the floor as he screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karen said she'd let me see the kids if y'all left kudos and comments


	4. Latius Est Impunitum Relinqui Facinus Nocentis Quam Innocentem Damnari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“In these times I don't, in a manner of speaking, know what I want; perhaps I don't want what I know and want what I don't know.”_  
― Marsilio Ficino, _The Letters of Marsilio Ficino, Vol. 3_

Part of Keith believes that if he just doesn’t think about it, it will go away. If he closes his eyes and ignores how he feels and pretends it didn’t happen, then maybe it will all just cease to exist. But that’s impossible, as he soon finds out, because once Keith is forced to acknowledge that it really did happen, it becomes impossible to ignore. 

It will suddenly come up in Keith’s mind at the most random of moments, flashes of images and the ghosts of feelings he’d rather forget. It makes his tongue turn sour and his stomach tumble and he can’t help the way he digs his nails so hard into his palm he draws blood. He’s powerless to stop it, totally at his memory’s mercy. It doesn’t matter how hard he thinks about anything else, the flashbacks of what happened refuse to stay quiet.

He finds himself completely unable to even look at Shiro now. Instead he focuses his gaze on anyone or anything else, but when he looks at the other paladins, at Allura and Coran and Romelle, the shame petrifies him. It’s as though the guilt rises up in his throat and starts to choke him, stealing the air from his lungs and the strength from his limbs. He can’t bring himself to look at anyone anymore, so he usually ends up focusing his gaze on the floor or the wall or whatever inanimate object that’s nearby and won’t cause the humiliation to engulf him. 

The shame and embarrassment surprise him. He can’t help but feel wrong, tainted, _dirty._ Too many times has he scrubbed his skin raw in the shower, desperate to wash off the memories of metal and skin, of tongue and teeth, but it’s never enough. The defilement lives where he can not clean: in his stomach, in his chest, in the back of his throat and in every breath of his lungs. There is a filth he can not wash away, an infection that festers underneath his skin, an impurity that rots him from the inside out. 

He knows, he _knows_ that what happened to him wasn’t his fault, knows that the situation was out of his control. He knows that there was nothing he could have done but still he feels like he should have done something, _anything._ If only he hadn’t been so weak, then maybe things would have turned out differently. If only he had fought harder, then maybe he wouldn’t have been assaulted. If only he had been stronger, then maybe he wouldn’t feel so powerless. If only he had done more, then maybe he and Shiro wouldn’t be in this situation now. If only.

It wasn’t his fault, he _knows_ that, but still he feels like it is. He didn’t fight back hard enough, he didn’t try to stop it at all, he didn’t do a single goddamn thing. He just laid there and let it happen. It’s not his fault, except it _is._

Shiro blames himself, so why can’t he? 

Keith barely talks to anyone anymore, avoiding everyone as much as he possibly can. Instead he takes solace in his solitude, but even then he’s not entirely alone. He has Kosmo, after all, and the wolf makes for good company. He doesn’t expect Keith to talk but when Keith does, all Kosmo does is listen and lick his face from time to time. He’ll curl up next to Keith, the warmth of his body a comfort, and Keith can spend hours just running his hands through Kosmo’s fur, petting and scratching until the wolf dozes off and he nearly does as well. 

He finds himself having more and more issues. He’d be pretty sure he was sick if he hadn’t already put himself through three cycles in the healing pods, but that didn’t seem to make a difference. He still feels ill. His body echoes with aches and pains, his heart beats too fast and too loud in his chest, and there’s an exhaustion he can’t seem to shake. Then again, his fatigue might be because he can barely sleep and even when he can, his rest is fraught with nightmares. Far too often he wakes up feeling like he hasn’t slept at all.

He doesn’t really help himself though as he repeatedly pushes his body past its physical limits. He’ll spend hours on the training deck running through simulation after simulation in an attempt to push himself to the point of exhaustion because maybe then he’ll be able to pass out into a dreamless, peaceful sleep, but it never seems to work. He keeps trying anyway. 

The constant overexercising and lack of rest puts him on edge. He isn’t able to concentrate, can’t seem to focus on anything. Someone will say something and by the end of their sentence he’ll have forgotten the beginning. He’s constantly agitated as well, annoyed by even the smallest of things. He may not snap at others or storm off in a fit of rage, but his inner turmoil is practically palpable in the air around him.

The others have noticed it, of course. How could they not? Whenever he enters a room the tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. They all look at him as though they’re afraid he’ll suddenly explode in a fit of rage, as though his anger will get the better of him. That or they’ll look at him in concern, clearly worried about why he never seems to be in a good mood anymore, but no one says anything about it. No one except for Lance, surprisingly enough. 

“Hey, man. You okay?” he asks one day, looking at Keith with unconventional concern.

They’re in the dining room. Keith tries to eat after the others to avoid having to face them and to avoid questions about why he can never seem to finish his meal but for some reason, Lance decided to take his lunch later today as well. Keith has barely touched his goo, scowling down at it as though it is the source of all his problems. He is able to stomach less and less as the days go on, his appetite slowly diminishing along with his spirit.

“Fine,” Keith replies, maybe a little too forcefully but that’s how he always is with Lance. It’s not overly suspicious, or at least he hopes it’s not.

“Seriously,” Lance continues, clearly not picking up on Keith’s distaste for this conversation or, if he does, ignoring it. “We’re worried about you.”

“I said, I’m _fine.”_

Lance’s hands raise up in a placating gesture and too late Keith realizes that he practically growled at him. He just wants this goddamn conversation to be over, to eat as much of his goo as he can stomach in peace and quiet then hit the training deck for a few punishing hours of fighting simulations.

“Okay, okay, I get it. _You’re fine,_” Lance keeps going, and Keith weighs the pros and cons of punching him in the face. “But if you’re not, you know we’re here for you, right?”

And that is… unexpected. Lance should be giving him shit right now, teasing him about his hair or his outfit or _something._ Keith knows they’ve grown closer since this journey started out, but Lance’s seemingly genuine concern for Keith’s wellbeing is a bit off-putting, to say the least.

“Yeah,” Keith replies, unable to hide the clear confusion in his voice. “I know.”

Keith gets the feeling that Lance doesn’t really believe a word that comes out of his mouth but for once in his life, he doesn’t push Keith. That, thankfully, is the end of that conversation as Lance finally finishes his meal, putting his plate away and leaving Keith to continue eating by himself. 

And Keith _is_ fine. He’s functioning, isn’t he? For the most part, anyway.

It’s really not that big of a deal. It doesn’t feel like a big deal anyway. He doesn’t see why anyone really needs to know. As much as Keith finds he wants to tell someone, anyone about what happened, about what he’s going through, he doesn’t know what he’d do if they found out. He doesn’t want them to see him the way he sees himself: damaged, dirty, _weak._ He couldn’t face them, the shame and embarrassment would be too much to handle.

And even if they did know, he doesn’t think they would understand. How could they? They would all likely blame Shiro even though it wasn’t him, it wasn’t his fault, and that would just create more problems for everyone, cause more issues than any of this is really worth. What if they stopped trusting Shiro as their leader? What if they stopped being able to form Voltron? There are too many outcomes where everything goes wrong so really, it’s better for everyone that this stays between Keith and Shiro. It’s best that Keith just gets over this on his own.

Plus, he can talk all he wants to Kosmo, so it’s fine. He’s fine. He eats less, sleeps less, _feels_ less, but really, he’s fine. He’s in a constant state of dissociation and numbness, but he’s still functioning. For the most part, anyway.

Masturbation has become a chore. He still gets hard, still feels the need to bring himself off, but it’s a fucking process. He doesn’t necessarily feel the arousal so much as he feels the need for relief, the release of pent up energy that comes with an orgasm. Having to jerk off becomes almost bothersome, turning into yet another annoyance that he has to deal with. When he’s actually touching himself, no matter what he thinks about to begin with, _it_ will suddenly pop into his head and steal his breath away. He’ll have to pull his hand off his cock to cover his face as though to protect himself from the sudden wave of shame and guilt, but eventually the moment will pass and he’ll go back to jerking off, desperate to think of anything else but _that._

Actually climaxing is the most difficult part, though. It’s a goddamn struggle. He’ll spend far too long desperately striping his hand over his cock as he gasps and squirms and nearly cries with the effort to just fucking _come._ Even once he actually manages to achieve an orgasm it’s unsatisfying, as though it’s an itch he can never quite scratch. He doesn’t really feel like he’s managed to come but his spend will paint his hand, his cock will soften, and his balls will no longer ache with the need for release. For a little while, at least. It’s unfortunate, but he’s sure that with a little bit of time the difficulty will ease and he’ll be back to enjoying masturbation without having _it_ affect him as it does.

He finds himself thinking about Shiro a lot. He can’t help but wonder about him, wonder how he’s holding up through all of this. The few times that Keith looks at Shiro, really looks at him, he seems like he’s put together but Keith knows him far too well. He’s just trying to hold it together for the others. He’s exhausted, beaten down, a broken shell of the man he once was, and Keith’s heart breaks for him.

Keith knows that Shiro blames himself even if it wasn’t his fault, especially if it wasn’t his fault. Keith doesn’t blame him for any of this, he really doesn’t, but in a way that makes everything even more difficult. He knows it wasn’t really Shiro that hurt him, but at the same time it _was._ It was his body, his face, his voice, his eyes, it was all of Shiro except for his soul, and though Keith knows that he finds that he can’t seem to find the difference anymore. 

He knows that as much as he is hurting, Shiro is too; in a different manner, but still hurting nonetheless. Keith supposes that, in a way, Shiro was violated too. He’s probably dealing with a similar sense of trauma as well: he wasn’t in control of what was happening to his body, he was forced to do something against his will. Out of everyone, Shiro is, ironically enough, probably the only one who understands even the slightest bit what he’s going through.

He wants to comfort Shiro, wants to be comforted by him, but he feels sick at the thought of even touching Shiro, at having Shiro’s hands touch him, of hearing Shiro’s voice reassure him that everything will be okay and they’ll get through this. He loathes it as much as he craves it and he feels as though he’s being torn apart by what he does and does not want. It doesn’t matter though, because none of it will mean anything. No amount of placating words, no number of reassuring touches, will make a difference. There’s not a damn thing in the world that can change anything about this. Their situation is just too fucked up. 

It makes Keith angry that so much was taken from him, taken from Shiro, taken from _both_ of them, because it’s not fair. It’s not fair that everything they were has been twisted and warped so cruelly. It’s not fair that Shiro has to live with the memories of a person he never was, a person he never would be. It’s not fair that — on top of _everything_ — Keith has to lose the one person he loves, the one person he _trusts,_ above all else. It’s not fair, and that _pisses_ Keith _off._

Keith doesn’t blame Shiro and yet he treats him like he does, Shiro shouldn’t blame himself but he will, and the only person they can really blame is a fucking clone controlled by an evil witch but that’s far easier said than done. No, they’re stuck in this strange place where neither can move past without the help of the other, but neither can offer the help that is needed. How can they face each other without guilt, without blame, without grief? They can’t, so they won’t even bother to try. They’ll keep their distance, keep their facades up, and go about their business as though nothing happened. 

It’s better for everyone this way. At least, that’s what Keith tells himself. 

For the first time since this all began, Keith can start to feel the guilt and shame begin to overtake him, utterly crippling in their intensity. He is forced to finally, finally acknowledge that okay, maybe he’s not as alright as he thought he was. But it’s not a big deal, really, because he can still function, he can still fight, he can still do what needs to be done. He may not be okay but that’s alright, because it doesn’t change anything. He’s still a part of Voltron, still a savior to the universe, and whether or not he’s okay doesn’t matter because he can’t afford to let it matter. He has to keep going regardless of what he’s going through because there are things that are far more important than how he feels. 

Emotions are a luxury he can’t afford.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated!


	5. Noli Me Tangere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hysteria is impossible without an audience. Panicking by yourself is the same as laughing alone in an empty room. You feel really silly.”_  
― Chuck Palahniuk, _Invisible Monsters_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit goes down and Kosmo is the best boi

Keith starts to let his anger control him again.

He’s furious. Not at Shiro but for him, for himself, for _them_ because they don’t deserve this. They shouldn’t have to endure such brutality, to lose one another to a situation beyond either of their control. To betray themselves, to betray one another, is a fate they should never have been destined to. This should never have happened and yet it did, and that makes Keith _angry._

He starts to lash out at anyone and everyone, regardless of whether they deserve his irritability or not. His temper is shorter than it’s ever been and he finds himself overcome with sudden fits of rage, violent thoughts and images flashing through his mind. He wants to hurt people, wants to slam their heads into walls and beat them until they’re bloody and wrap his hands around their necks and _squeeze._

He doesn’t do that though, even as the raging urges nearly blind him, but he is not nearly as restrained with the words that roll off his tongue. He’s utterly vicious, his caustic comments coming out without thought. He’s made Hunk cry a handful of times and he feels terrible about it, he really does, but he can’t help himself. He just gets so fucking _angry._ The team starts to give him a wide berth, stepping on eggshells around him so as not to incur his needless wrath. 

He doesn’t understand why this is happening. He had never been prone to such anger before. Sure, he could be moody, and he did and still does get into his fair share of fights, but it wasn’t like this. This is rage; pure, unadulterated fury that blinds him with its ferocity. His violent urges scare him, _terrify_ him, really, because it takes everything in his power to stay calm, to keep his hands at his sides and not curled into fists that are flying toward someone’s face. He wants others to hurt like he does, to feel just a fraction of the pain he’s in. He’s in control for now, but he can’t help but wonder what will happen if— no, _when_ he snaps.

His actions have become reckless, dangerous even. He blatantly ignores orders and goes off on his own, taking on entire Galra squadrons by himself and leaving weak points in the team’s defenses. Lance yells at him, asks him what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but Keith keeps his stony silence. Hunk awkwardly backs Lance up even though it’s obvious he doesn’t want to get involved, but he’s taken more hits than he should have thanks to Keith’s solo flying and it’s starting to worry him. The Yellow Lion may be the most durable of them all, but even it has its limits. Pidge, for her part, is passive aggressive. Her frustration and annoyance are evident through the comms but she knows that Keith is too stubborn to listen to any of them. All she can do is let him be and pick up the slack, as per usual. 

Shiro though… Shiro doesn’t say a word. He ignores Lance’s yelling and Hunk’s halfhearted agreements, ignores Pidge’s seething comments, ignores everyone whenever Keith is involved and ignores Keith himself. He doesn’t react when Keith lashes out at him, just stands there and takes it and turns away to pick up the conversation like nothing ever even happened. He doesn’t order Keith around, doesn’t try to stop him when he decides to go off on his own, just lets him do whatever he pleases and then does what he can to minimize the damage in the aftermath. Shiro doesn’t do a goddamn thing. Keith can’t decide how he feels about that.

The thing is, Keith knows that what he’s doing is wrong. He knows he shouldn’t be taking his anger out on everyone, knows that he should be working with the rest of the team rather than going off on his own to do as he pleases. He knows that he owes it to everyone else to be a good team member but for some reason he just can’t. He can’t stop himself from acting out, lashing out, and he knows he’s hurting everyone, knows he’s pushing them away, but he just can’t seem to stop himself. He doesn’t know if he wants to stop himself.

It’s probably for the best, anyway. They weren’t exactly the best of friends to begin with. Though Keith cares for them, it’s better that they keep their distance. He’s never been good for anyone. They’re better off without carrying the burden of his friendship.

Life goes on. Keith lets his anger consume him, lets it guide his actions, lets it push away the people he’s closest to. Lance yells at him, Hunk awkwardly agrees, Pidge is passive aggressive, and Shiro doesn’t do a damn thing. Not a thing, until Keith’s recklessness and ignorance ends with Pidge taking one too many hits that she shouldn’t have even been open to and crash landing on a nearby planet.

Keith feels guilty, of course he does. It’s his fault. He was supposed to be covering her but he went off on his own and left her open to attack. It’s his fault she took that hit, his fault that she crash landed, and his fault that she’s spent the last hour in a healing pod. Shiro is keeping careful watch over her while the rest of the team are on the bridge, silent and sulking. Lance keeps shooting him dirty looks when he thinks Keith isn’t looking, or maybe he just doesn’t care if Keith sees. Hunk is looking at the ground, worry evident on his face but clearly not wanting to get involved. Allura just looks disappointed, her arms crossed and her nose turned up at him. Even Coran can’t keep up his optimistic attitude; Keith could swear his mustache isn’t as pointy as it normally is. Romelle is looking at him with a calculating expression, clearly concerned about _him,_ and Keith feels fear at the thought that she might _know._ She doesn’t, he knows she doesn’t, there’s no way she could, but her gaze is a bit too perceptive for his comfort. 

Keith goes back to glaring at his feet, leaning back against the wall and trying not to let his anger and hurt consume him completely. He wants to scream and cry and break things, wants to throw a tantrum, wants to curl up into a ball underneath his blankets and sob himself to sleep, but for now he just focuses on keeping his breathing even and not bursting into angry tears. He knows he has no reason to be, but he’s angry. Angry at Shiro, at Lance, at Hunk and Allura and Coran and Romelle and _Pidge,_ of all people. It makes no sense but he’s angry at everyone and everything for reasons he can’t quite figure out. Most of all though, he’s angry at himself. 

It’s his fault. There’s no way it isn’t. He was the one who ignored Shiro’s orders, who went off on his own. He was the one who wasn’t there for his team, for Pidge. He was supposed to be covering her, he was supposed to be there to protect her and he wasn’t. He left her defenseless and she got hurt, she could have _died,_ and it’s all Keith’s fault. Not for the first time, he thinks about how everyone would be better off if he jettisoned himself out of the airlock.

Everyone looks up as the doors open. Pidge walks in, thankfully as good as new. Her mouth is already open to no doubt let loose a string of angry words and violent threats toward Keith, but before she can start Shiro is furiously stalking across the room. Everyone seems to stop breathing as they watch Shiro make his way to Keith, as he shows true and genuine anger for the first time since he came back. 

“What the _fuck_ was _that?”_ he asks, starting as a growl and building his way to a shout by the end.

Keith’s scowl twists deeper into a sneer and he opens his mouth to reply with a scathing, sarcastic retort but then Shiro is pinning him to the wall with a hand — his _Galra_ hand — on Keith’s chest and all that escapes him is a wounded sob. 

The change in atmosphere is sudden and jarring. Everyone goes from being angry and sullen to confused or shocked or both. They watch as Shiro’s expression morphs from anger into one of pain and horror and utter _regret._ Keith’s eyes are shut tight. He’s unable to control himself anymore as his chest heaves and his hands shake at his sides, as his whole body is overcome by tremors and he gasps in breaths too loud for the silence of the room. Shiro shuts his eyes and drops his head, composing himself as he pulls his hand back, and Keith opens his eyes when Shiro’s hand finally pulls away from his chest. He can see every emotion that flashes through Shiro’s face as he pulls himself together and puts on the facade of their emotionally unaffected leader. He looks up at Keith again and even though his expression is carefully neutral, Keith can see right through him. The stress around his eyes, the pain in the line of his mouth, the grief that weighs down his brow all speak to his sorrow, and it’s too much. 

Keith nearly sprints from the room in his need to get away. Shiro lets him go. 

Keith knows the team will have questions, will want to know what the fuck just happened, but his heart is pounding too loud, too fast, and he can’t stop his hands from shaking. His whole body feels like it’s made up of pins and needles, a sharp pain keeps pulsing through his chest, his limbs are too heavy and every breath is an effort and he feels like he’s having a heart attack. He feels like he’s _dying._ He considers making his way into one of the healing pods but he can’t figure out where he is. He can’t remember where he went after leaving the bridge. He vaguely recognizes that he’s in one of the many hallways of the Castle but he can’t for the life of him figure out which one. He’s running, he can’t stop running, but everything looks like it’s spinning and he feels like he’s going to collapse.

His legs end up giving out eventually, knees buckling even as he continues to stumble forward. His vision isn’t working properly, he doesn’t know where he is, he doesn’t know what’s happening. He feels the floor collide with his face and no doubt his cheek will sport a bruise by tomorrow but he doesn’t feel the pain, doesn’t feel the floor beneath him, doesn’t feel anything but pure fear. 

He can’t breathe. He’s gasping in air that doesn’t reach his lungs and he weakly pounds on his chest, trying desperately to get his airways to work again but it’s useless. He’s crying now, or maybe he was crying all along, and all he wants to be in his bed again.

He vaguely registers a brief flash of light then something nosing its way under his arm, and suddenly he finds himself in his own room. With great difficulty he manages to clamber onto his bed, collapsing tiredly onto his side, and Kosmo jumps up after him and curls up right next to him. Keith holds onto Kosmo as he tries to even out his breathing and remember he’s not actually dying. It’s a panic attack, he reminds himself, he used to get them after his dad died, he’s gotten through it before and he’ll be okay. But those had never been like this, never felt this bad, and he buries his face in Kosmo’s fur as he sobs.

Eventually he falls asleep, or maybe he just passes out from exhaustion, but either way he’s emotionally drained by the time he wakes up a few hours later. Despite that, there’s this nervous energy thrumming under his skin that he needs to work off. He makes his way to the training deck, thankful he doesn’t run into anyone on the way there, and he runs through simulation after simulation until his chest is heaving and sweat is rolling off his skin. But there’s still this _need_ for something more, something different, a need he can’t ignore, so he sighs and begins to unenthusiastically palm at himself as he heads towards the showers.

It goes as usual, at first. He gets hard easily enough, and by the time he’s underneath the stream he’s jerking off in earnest, his hand moving up and down his cock and twisting on every upstroke as he lets the hot water wash over his body, rinsing off the sweat and grime of the day. He fucks into his hand a bit, runs his thumb over the head, but it doesn’t really do much for him. After a while he brings his other hand down to play with his balls but really he’s just going through the motions. 

He does every trick he can think of, every move he knows, but over an hour later he finds himself collapsed on the floor of the shower, desperately striping his hand over his cock trying to find a release that feels like it will never come. His legs are jerking as his back arches against the tiles of the wall, his wrist— hell, his whole arm is cramping up, aching, but he can’t stop, he has to keep going, he _needs_ to come. He’s been crying for a while now, unable to stop the tears of frustration. His breath comes out in hiccuping sobs as he tries to bite back whimpers of near pain. 

He’s given up trying not to think about Shiro. He doesn’t want to think about how he’s trying to jerk off to the thought of _it,_ doesn’t want to think about how his tears aren’t just from frustration, doesn’t want to think about how he’s remembering the feeling of Shiro inside him, of Shiro’s fingers, of Shiro’s _tongue._ There’s a hot ache that shoots through him at the thought despite the _no bad wrong_ feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He’s close, so close, and he’s almost there but he’s been almost there for too fucking long and of course that’s when Shiro walks into the shower. He’s fresh from his own punishing workout, skin shining with a sheen of sweat and damp hair sticking to his forehead, naked as the day he was born. When he sees Keith he freezes in place, staring at him with a look caught between shock and fear, and that’s when Keith squeezes his eyes shut and comes with a wail that sounds more like a sob. It echoes around the room, far too loud, then tapers off to the sound of Keith actually sobbing as he comes down, breath hitching and body shaking, not from his orgasm because that was as unsatisfying as ever, but from the pain, the anguish, the utter grief at Shiro and _it_ and this whole goddamn situation. 

Keith cries and shakes and sobs and when he finally opens his eyes Shiro is still exactly how he was, in the same exact spot, except the expression on his face is now one of absolute horror. They lock eyes and Shiro opens his mouth as though he’s going to say something but Keith is quick to cut him off.

“Don’t,” he says, and he wants it to sound biting and caustic but really it’s just a pathetically sobbed plea. 

Shiro doesn’t say a word, just shuts his mouth and stands there and stares at Keith. A few moments later he’s turning around and walking out without a word, leaving Keith to cry in the shower in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos validate me


	6. Nemo Malus Felix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more.”_  
― C. S. Lewis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> even more shit goes down woo!

Shiro told the others.

Keith knows this as soon as he enters the dining room for breakfast. The raucous din he’s usually met with each morning is gone, replaced by a stony silence. The tension in the air is palpable.

The moment he walks in, everyone’s heads snap to him. It’s obvious they’re trying their hardest not to let their inner turmoil show on their faces but they’re doing a miserable job of it. That and Keith knows them well enough by now that he can see through their pathetic attempts at normalcy. Their expressions betray their emotions, all of them somewhere on the spectrum between horrified and enraged. Allura looks like she’s on the verge of angry tears, Coran looks as though he’s in utter disbelief, and Romelle looks both confused and disgusted. Pidge looks completely horrified, Hunk looks uncomfortably shocked, and Lance looks just plain furious. Keith can’t help the sigh of resignation he lets out as he takes it all in.

He thinks he should be angry, should be upset that Shiro told them what happened, but after the events of yesterday he supposes Shiro didn’t really have a choice. They would all have had too many questions, too many concerns than could be brushed off. There was no convincing lie, no number of placating words or rational explanations that could convince them all that everything is fine. 

Keith knows that as much as Shiro wants to keep everyone together, wants to keep their spirits up and their hopes high, he couldn’t lie to them about this. Keeping this secret took a toll on both of them, greater than even they realized. It was easy enough to lie by omission, to simply avoid talking about it. But being confronted with demands for answers, for the truth was a different thing entirely. They couldn’t lie to their friends’ faces, not anymore. There was only so much they could take before it became too much. 

As much as Keith does wish everyone was still oblivious, with the truth comes a strange sense of relief. There’s no more need to hide now, no shrouded sadness left to conceal, no more secrets left for them to keep. A weight has been lifted off their shoulders now that they don’t have to pretend like everything is fine. It’s out now. Everyone _knows._

Keith finds himself most upset with the knowledge that things will change, that things already have changed. It’s not up to anyone else to decide how he deals with this, how he and Shiro deal with each other, but he knows that they won’t be able to stop themselves from getting involved, whether in a misguided attempt to aid in a situation that’s beyond the realm of help or out of a misplaced sense of self-blame for what happened. That’s the most frustrating part of it, because even if they don’t intend to, they'll end up making the whole thing about _them,_ about how _they’re_ dealing with this and how _they_ know what’s best. 

All Keith wants is to just forget about this as much as he can and move on. They all seem to think it’s a much bigger deal than it really is— or rather, a much bigger deal than it feels like. He just wants everyone to leave it and him alone, to not get involved, though it seems as though it’s too late for that.

They’ve all distanced themselves from Shiro, pulling their chairs to sit at one end of the table while he sits at the other end. He’s entirely on his own and Keith can’t help but feel sorry for him. Keith had always expected that the team would blame Shiro if they were ever to find out, but actually witnessing it is a whole other thing entirely. He looks absolutely pitiful, so terribly alone that it tugs at Keith’s heartstrings even through the numbness of his chest. Shiro has accepted his fate, has resigned himself to being perceived as the monster he never truly was.

Keith knows that the only reason everyone is taking their pain and sorrow out on Shiro is because they need someone to blame. They weren’t there, they weren’t in that cavern, they didn’t see Shiro when he was cruel and vicious and everything the real Shiro never is. They had only ever known Shiro as himself which makes it impossible for them to distinguish between the Shiro that hurt Keith and the Shiro that has to live with the memory. It wasn’t Shiro’s fault but he’s forced to bear the weight of consequences from actions not his own. 

It’s easier for Keith to make the distinction, ironically enough. It doesn’t take away the sickness in his stomach or stop his hands from shaking any time Shiro gets too close, but he can still tell the difference. He has to, or else the fear and panic would paralyze him.

Keith finds himself wanting to come to Shiro’s defense but he knows it won’t make a difference. He could yell until he’s blue in the face, until his voice goes hoarse and leaves him entirely but it wouldn’t change anything. This isn’t Shiro’s fault, it wasn’t Shiro that did _that_ to him, it wasn’t _Shiro,_ but it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. 

Everyone has gone from staring at Keith to pointedly looking away and the all-too-familiar rage starts to surge through him. They know now, he knows that they know, are they really going to act like they don’t? Do they think Keith is stupid? Do they feel _sorry_ for him?

He wants to fling goo in their faces, smash plates over their heads, stomp and scream and fight until his fists are covered in blood, from himself or them he doesn’t care. Instead he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes until the wave of anger recedes, then grabs a plate and sits down at the table in the spot directly across from Shiro.

Everyone’s shock and surprise radiates off of them. They’re staring at Keith, eyes and mouths wide open. Shiro, for his part, doesn’t react other than the slight tensing of his shoulder. He continues to eat his goo at the same steady pace, his eyes never once leaving his plate. Keith knows he’s just trying to avoid giving the others any more reasons to hate him, but it’s not fair. This blame is not his to carry, this hurt is not meant for him. 

Keith knows what it’s like to feel truly alone, as though there is not a single person in the world who cares for your existence, and he’d rather everyone else hate him too if it means Shiro never has to feel that way.

Keith starts to eat his goo without a second glance to the other end of the table, pretending today is just like any other, as though nothing is out of the ordinary. It’s easier that way, pretending like he’s fine. It’s all that keeps him sane, really. So he eats his goo and keeps his head down, acts as though nothing happened, and watches out of the corner of his eye as the other end of the table has a silent conversation.

Allura’s sharp intake of breath as she prepares to say something, no doubt in anger and disgust, is loud in the otherwise quiet room. But before she can start Lance’s hand is on her shoulder, effectively silencing her. He shakes his head before returning to his meal, stabbing his spoon into his goo with unbridled anger. Keith knows what they must think of him but he forces himself to not care, to continue eating his breakfast without dwelling on the judgement they’re passing.

Allura clearly thinks Keith must be in some state of shock if the “what the fuck” look she gives everyone is anything to go by. The others shrug at her, not knowing what to do, or shake their heads like Lance as though to say, “What are we supposed to do about it?”

She raises her eyebrows then, clearly communicating her intent to speak up and she looks to the others for support. Lance doesn’t spare her a glance, just continues to angrily eat his goo, but the sneer on his face speaks volumes. Hunk can’t even meet her gaze, looking down to the floor as he tries to avoid the entire situation. Pidge gives Allura a look that says she wants to say something too, but what is there to say? Allura tilts her head, they have to say _something,_ but Pidge shakes her own; it’s not their place, they should just stay out of it. Coran gives Allura a resigned smile. He doesn’t know what they can say but he’s with her. Romelle just shrugs at Allura, her mind not made up. It’s three to two in favor of saying nothing, not including Romelle. Allura purses her lips and stares furiously down at her plate, as though the goo is to blame for all of this.

They all go back to stewing in an awkward silence, the only noise the occasional clatter of a spoon. Shiro, like Keith, watched the wordless interaction in his peripheral vision as well if the way he’s holding his spoon so tight he’s bending the metal is any indication. His eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth set in a constant frown, and his shoulders are tensed, almost uncomfortably so, but he continues to eat his goo at the same steady pace, pretending nothing is out of the ordinary. 

Part of Keith wants to be the first to bring it up, wants to control the situation as much as he can, but he holds on to the hope that maybe, just maybe nobody will say anything. Maybe that silent conversation will be the end of it. They’ll all just accept what happened and do their best to move on. They’ll trust Keith to work through it on his own, to resolve any issues he might have with Shiro. Maybe, just maybe this will all happen on Keith’s terms.

Shiro finishes his meal, stands up, and walks out of the dining room. The moment he’s gone it’s as though everyone lets out a collective breath they’ve been holding. Out of the corner of his eye Keith can see the other end of the table all looking at one another pointedly, eyebrows raising and heads nodding, then everyone is looking his way. He stares down at his plate, appetite gone in an instant.

“Keith.”

He can’t say he’s surprised that Allura is the first one to speak, but he’s tired and just really not in the mood for a lecture.

“What.”

“We need to talk.”

She’s almost hesitant with how placating she’s trying to be but it doesn’t change anything. Keith still doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t even want to look up from his plate. He sets his spoon down and drops his head, letting his hair fall over his face and shield him from the others’ gazes.

“What’s there to talk about?” he says, voice shaky and so quiet it’s almost inaudible.

“Fucking— really? Are you serious?” Lance says, slamming his spoon down onto the table and making Keith jump at the loud noise.

Allura is quick to put a hand on Lance’s arm, looking at him pointedly. He stares back at her, wild eyed and disbelieving before eventually conceding, going back to sulking at his goo.

“Keith,” Hunk says, voice soft in an attempt to alleviate the tension. “We just want to help.”

“There’s nothing to help with.”

“Are you— oh, for fuck’s sake!” 

Lance sweeps his goo off the table with his arm, surprising everyone as the plate clatters to the floor and spatters goo everywhere. He’s out of his seat now, pacing angrily and wringing his hands as though he has no idea what to do with them, whether he should slap some sense into Keith or just leave.

“Are you serious right now?” he says, turning to Keith in furious disbelief. “Are you _fucking_ serious?”

“Told you he’d be like this,” Pidge mutters under her breath, and Keith isn’t sure whether she’s talking about him or Lance.

“Keith, please,” Coran chimes in and great, they’re all ganging up on him now. “We just want to talk.”

Keith finally looks up from his goo but he directs his gaze at Romelle, who has stayed quiet throughout all of this. He raises an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to speak, but she doesn’t say a word. She meets his stare with a challenge in her own and it’s only a few moments before Keith is dropping his eyes back down to his plate. She’s not going to take part in this but she won’t take his side either. Keith can’t help but begrudgingly respect that. 

“Fine. Talk,” he spits out, as though the words have gone sour in his mouth. 

“Well,” Hunk begins, and Keith is surprised that he’s the one to speak as he’d figured that Hunk just wanted to avoid this mess as much as possible. “You see, the thing is, we’re worried about you, man.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh yeah, you’re totally fine! Nothing wrong with you at all,” Lance says, heavily sarcastic as he waves his arms about wildly. 

Allura glares at him, mouth very nearly twisting into a sneer. Lance stares back at her for a moment before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, doing his best to calm himself down. He sits back down at the table but he’s still scowling. Allura elbows him in the ribs and he turns his scowl into a frown, and once she’s satisfied with Lance she turns back to Keith.

“We’ve noticed you’ve been quite… _troubled,_ recently. We wanted to know if there was anything we could do to help.”

“No.”

Lance throws his hands up in the air and shakes his head, eyes wide with disbelief. Everyone else is looking at Keith with concern. They obviously don’t believe him but it’s the truth. They can’t help him, not one bit.

“Okay,” Pidge says, drawing out the vowels and then adding in a more sarcastic tone, “I guess that settles that then.”

Keith doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at his goo in silence. He can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes upon him, watching him, waiting for him to say something, _anything._ He keeps his silence and it’s only moments before they start up again.

“Keith,” Allura says, and he can tell she’s trying her hardest to be gentle. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

His head snaps up to look at her.

“Are you fucking serious?” he says, unable to help the anger that courses through him. “Why would I tell _you?_ I mean, are we really even friends?” 

He looks around at everyone then, steadfastly ignoring the looks of betrayal and hurt that flash across their faces. 

“Is there anything holding us together besides some messed up series of coincidences?” 

“How could you say that?” Lance asks, standing up and glaring at Keith in anger and indignation.

“Okay, fine, _we’re friends,_” he says, a bit too sarcastically. “That doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything.”

“You didn’t think for one second that maybe, just maybe, it might be important for us to know? Since, you know, it involves us?” Lance says.

He’s stepped closer to Keith, who stands as well at Lance’s utterance.

“How the _fuck_ does this involve you?” Keith snarls, stepping closer to Lance. “How is this any of your business?”

“Well, seeing as Shiro is supposed to be our leader, I think that makes it our business!” 

They’re face to face and Lance is yelling now, practically spitting in his face. Keith can’t help the sneer that twists his face.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he says, voice low and dangerous, and he reaches out and shoves Lance. _Hard._

Lance stumbles back and pure, unbridled fury flashes across his face. He starts to surge toward Keith, hands already clenched into fists, but before he can take a single step Allura is grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, effectively holding him in place as she shoots him a fatal glare. 

“Well, we kind of have to wonder if we can trust Shiro anymore,” Hunk chimes in somewhat awkwardly, looking worriedly between Keith and Lance.

Keith turns his gaze to Hunk then, his expression one of absolute betrayal.

“How could you even say that?”

“Because he raped you!”

The room drops into total silence at Lance’s outburst. They all look at Keith in shock and concern, likely because his own expression has morphed into one of absolute horror. This is the first time it’s been properly acknowledged out loud, the first time _that_ word was used. It hits Keith like a brick to the face, knocks the breath and anger from him in a single blow, leaving only a pervasive numbness laced with an inkling of utter humiliation.

Keith clenches his jaw so hard he can hear his teeth grind together. He closes his eyes so the tears don’t fall, swallows even though he feels like he’s going to choke, and he hangs his head in shame.

“That _wasn’t_ Shiro,” he says, hating how raw with emotion his voice is, how broken he sounds. 

“But—”

_“No,”_ Keith says, quick to cut Lance off even as his voice keeps cracking and it’s obvious that he’s on the verge of tears. “That wasn’t Shiro, okay? That was a clone controlled by an evil witch. Shiro would never— that wasn’t him, okay?”

Everyone is staring at him as though their very souls are resonating with his grief. They look like they’re about to burst into tears as well and Keith _hates_ it. The last thing he wants, the last thing he’s ever wanted is their pity,

“That doesn’t change what happened,” Allura tries to argue.

There is no longer anger in her voice but Keith would prefer if there were. Her gentleness is that which one might reserve for a child. She talks down to Keith as though _Keith_ is the one who doesn’t understand and it takes all the self control he has left not to punch her in the face.

“Of course it does! Why—”

“What’s to stop it from happening again?” Romelle asks, finally speaking up and drawing everyone’s attention. “Are any of us safe anymore?” 

Everyone looks at her in various degrees of shock, surprised that she’s the one to just come right out and say it. No doubt the others were trying to phrase it differently, kinder and not as harsh, but Keith appreciates the brutal honesty, if nothing else.

He doesn’t have an answer for her. Sure, the real Shiro’s consciousness was now in his clone’s body, and Pidge had effectively removed all the Galra programming from his arm, but is it enough? Who’s to say the witch can’t still find a way to control him? 

His chest starts to go numb and it gets harder and harder to feel his fingers and toes, his hands and feet. Anxiety begins to rise in his throat, choking him, but he pushes it down. He ignores how hard it’s becoming to breathe, focuses on anything that isn’t his heart pounding against his ribcage. He’ll have a panic attack about that thought later.

“Shiro is himself,” Keith says automatically; defending Shiro is practically second nature at this point. “It won’t happen again.”

“How can you be sure?” Coran asks quietly, and Keith doesn’t have an answer for him either.

“I don’t— can you just trust me? Please?” Keith pleads, and he knows he sounds desperate but he can’t help it anymore.

“We do trust you, Keith,” Allura says, soft as can be. “But we don’t— we _can’t_ trust Shiro, not anymore.”

“But it wasn’t him!”

He can’t help the way his face screws up, the way his lip trembles as the tears in his eyes threaten to spill. He doesn’t want to cry, doesn’t want them to see him so weak. He’s tired and emotionally exhausted and he just wants this all to be over. He doesn’t want to have to deal with this anymore, it was all in the past and he wants it to stay there, where he doesn’t have to constantly be reminded of it, where he doesn’t have to continuously relive it. Is that really too much to ask for?

“Look, just— can you just let it go? It happened, now it’s over. Just let it be, please.”

“We can’t do that,” Lance says, and though his voice is not laced with anger it is firm and unrelenting, leaving no room for negotiation; Keith still tries.

“Why not?” Keith is powerless to keep the tears from running down his cheeks, to stop his voice from cracking. “Why can’t you just leave it alone?” 

“Keith—” 

“Allura, I don’t want to fucking hear it,” he says, and he wants it to come out biting and caustic but it just sounds wet and pathetic.

He’s had enough. He wishes he sounded as sure as Lance, certain enough that the others won’t press, but his voice betrays his desperation and distress. 

“Keith, you can’t just keep going on as though nothing happened—”

“Why not?” Keith says, voice barely a whisper and begging now, pleading with them to just let it be. “It’s really not that big of a deal.” 

“‘Not a big deal?’ How can you say that?”

The anger is back in Lance’s voice and it just makes Keith cry harder. He feels so stupid, so useless with the way they’re treating him like a child. It’s not fair, it shouldn’t be up to them to decide how he deals with this. He was doing perfectly fine until they decided to get involved.

“I—”

“Keith,” Allura says, voice almost stern though still trying to be kind. “This is important. You should have told us as soon as it happened.”

“Yeah man, we would’ve helped, you know?” Hunk adds, worry evident on his face.

“This isn’t something that you had to go through alone,” Pidge remarks. “We’re your friends, we would’ve been there for you.”

“You should’ve trusted us,” Lance butts in, voice still tinged with anger.

Keith is on the verge of sobbing now. There’s so much he wants to say, wants them to know. He does trust them, he considers them all family, he knows that they would’ve been there for him, that they’ll always be there for him. He wants them to know that he didn’t tell them because he was ashamed, because he didn’t want them to think he was weak, because he didn’t want them to think he was _dirty._ He didn’t tell them because he knew that they’d blame Shiro even though it wasn’t his fault, knew that they wouldn’t understand and could never understand. He didn’t want them to have to carry the grief that came with knowing the truth, he just wanted to protect them from this pain. He just wanted it to be over.

“I just— I don’t want to talk about this anymore. At all. I’m done, okay? I just— I’m done,” and with that Keith is walking away before anyone can say anything else. 

He wanders through the halls of the Castle aimlessly, desperately attempting to ignore the shame and humiliation coursing through his veins. He’s crying silently, using the sleeves of his shirt to wipe away the tears, and he can’t help how weak he feels, how dirty, how utterly tainted. 

He keeps walking and ignores the ache in his throat, the anxiety that threatens to break loose and overtake him. He doesn’t realize where he’s going until he gets there, the Black Lion’s gaze seeming to pierce through his very soul. The ramp lays waiting in front of him and he hesitates for a moment before he squares his shoulders and determinedly makes his way into the cockpit.

Keith is not surprised to find Shiro in the pilot’s seat. His elbows rest on his knees as his face is buried in his hands, and as Keith approaches to stand in front of the chair he realizes Shiro’s entire body is trembling.

“Shiro.”

Even at the soft tone of Keith’s voice, Shiro’s entire body tenses. Keith can hear the deep breath Shiro takes, shaky and wet, as he slowly lifts his head to reveal the absolute mess he is. 

He’s been crying, which is off-putting to say the least. Keith has never seen Shiro cry before, not once. There are no more tears but the remnants of wetness still shine on his skin. His eyes are rimmed red, the same ugly shade as the blotchiness of his cheeks. His shoulders slump, his hands tremble, and he holds himself with an uncertainty that tells of the conflict that rages inside him. He looks as broken as Keith feels. 

Keith knows Shiro blames himself. Even though it wasn’t really him, even though it was a clone of him being controlled by an evil witch, even though Shiro’s consciousness was trapped in the Black Lion and there was literally nothing he could have done, Shiro still blames himself. That’s just the kind of man he is. He’ll blame himself because he feels as though he should have done more, should have been there, should have found a way to save Keith from being hurt, and it breaks Keith’s heart to know that Shiro has to live with the memories of such a terrible thing. It breaks Keith’s heart that they both have to live with this, live like this. 

Shiro was violated too. He’s forced to remember something he didn’t and would never do. He now has to know what it’s like to hurt Keith so intimately, how Keith squirms and cries and feels around his cock, how Keith’s skin and sweat and blood taste. He has to live with the memory of the destruction of everything they were, everything they are, everything they could have been. If Keith could he would spare Shiro this pain, but through the agony and heartbreak and all the grief they live with, this is a burden they both must bear. 

Keith wants so desperately to reach out, to comfort Shiro and tell him it will all be okay, but he doesn’t believe that himself so he just gives Shiro a rueful smile that speaks of acceptance and regret and all the dead dreams about what might have been. Then he walks out of the cockpit without another word, his hand coming up to run over the silver scar of a bite mark hidden just underneath his shirt collar.


	7. Quos Amor Verus Tenuit Tenebit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been.” _  
― Kurt Vonnegut, _Cat’s Cradle_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one babes
> 
> I hope y’all enjoy the mountain of contextual angst that is this installment. This was honestly my favorite chapter to write and is probably my favorite chapter of the entire series, so I hope that y’all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Also I know this chapter is a bit early but I was just so excited to post it I couldn’t wait.

The first time he met Shiro, Keith stole his car. 

When Shiro came to his classroom Keith hadn’t paid the man much attention at first, ignoring the lecture he was giving in favor of staring out the window. 

He allowed himself to fantasize about finally getting away from it all, imagining the day when he’d finally age out of the system and be left to his own devices, the day he’d finally be allowed to leave the group home. Eight boys in one house managed by two insanely strict caretakers was a nightmare, not to mention that their foster parents’ biological kids were always prioritized over them. Keith and the other foster kids were always treated like they were a burden, expected to be grateful that they’d been given a roof over their heads and a place to sleep and three meals a day. All Keith wanted to do was keep his head down and his nose clean until he was finally old enough to claim his dad’s—albeit meager—inheritance and head back to his old home out in the desert. He didn’t care about some stupid space video game, why should he? 

But then Shiro put him on the spot, called him out in front of everyone, and Keith had no choice. He took his seat in the simulator, fully prepared to suck just as much as everyone else did, but to his surprise he was actually decent. Better than decent, he was _good._ It was easy for him, far too easy, and he breezed through the levels like no one else had been able to. As the levels got higher, he started to feel more confident, started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he actually had a chance. He couldn’t stop himself from thinking about the possibilities, about what this might mean for him. Maybe this was his ticket out. Maybe this was the beginning of something new. Maybe he could actually get into the Galaxy Garrison, become a pilot, go to space.

“I’ve compiled a list of students I think would make the best candidates for the Garrison,” the principal said, and Keith knew it was wrong to eavesdrop but he couldn’t help himself from listening in.

“Is this guy on there? Looks like he’s just about ready to fly the real thing.”

Keith felt pride swell in his chest. Takashi Shirogane, a literal living legend, was impressed by _him._

“Keith? He's a bit of a discipline case.” 

And just like that, Keith’s dreams were devastated. His stomach dropped, his throat closed up, and he suddenly felt _ashamed_ of himself. He couldn’t help but feel like a piece of gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe, unwanted but unable to be rid of. 

“I don't think he'd necessarily fit in with the rigid Garrison culture.”

Of course he wouldn’t. He was a _discipline case,_ far more trouble than he was worth. Of course no one would give him a chance, no one _should_ give him a chance. All he’d ever done was disappoint people. There was a reason no one had ever believed in him; through all the variables he was the only constant. Why should anyone start believing in him now?

Then the principal was introducing James Griffin to Shiro, and of course they would take James to the Galaxy Garrison. He had the best grades in school, everyone loved him, he wasn’t some stupid foster kid that could never seem to stay out of trouble. He’d fit in perfectly there. 

Fuck the simulator, he thought. Fuck the simulator, fuck the Galaxy Garrison, and fuck _Shiro._ Then he stole Shiro’s car. Because fuck it, right?

He was surprised and confused when it turned out that Shiro was the one to bail him out. He couldn’t quite figure out this guy’s angle, what he wanted from Keith, because he had to want something, right? He wouldn’t just help him out of the kindness of his heart, there had to be some other reason. What could Keith possibly have to offer Takashi Shirogane?

“I don't get it,” Keith said, still unable to figure out just what exactly was going on. “I steal your car, and you respond by helping me out?”

“Yeah,” Shiro said with a shrug and a smile, as though it were that simple. “So you owe me one.”

Keith got the feeling that he wouldn’t be getting on this guy’s bad side that easily and part of him wanted to take that as a challenge. The other part of him, the smarter part, said to just count his blessings and be thankful he wasn’t pressing charges. But then Shiro was holding out a business card to him, an eyebrow raised expectantly. Keith hesitated before he eventually took it, watching Shiro warily all the while.

“Be at this address tomorrow at 0800 hours. You’re getting a second chance.”

Shiro raised his eyebrows and smiled at Keith, and then with a squeal of tires on asphalt he was off, leaving Keith in the Juvie parking lot wondering what the fuck just happened.

He showed up the next day, not because he wanted to or anything like that, but because what did he have to lose? 

He was surprised when Shiro took him on a tour of the Galaxy Garrison, showing him the classrooms and dorms and even letting him take a (totally unauthorized) run on their advanced space flight simulator. Keith killed it. He couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction that swelled inside him at the smile on Shiro’s face from Keith’s nearly perfect run. He also couldn’t help how impressed he was by the Garrison, how much he found himself wanting to be there despite knowing that he’d never really fit in. 

After showing him around the Garrison’s main buildings, Shiro took Keith out to the storage hangars that housed all the old spaceships. 

Keith had read everything he could get his hands on about space exploration, not that anyone cared. It was a way out for him, an escape from his life on Earth. Too often he imagined himself among the stars, away from everything and everyone that had ever hurt him. He had read all about each of these ships, knew every detail about their missions, but actually seeing them was a whole other thing entirely. The site was breathtaking and Keith couldn’t help but stare in awe and wonder. 

“That’s the Calypso,” Shiro said, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder as he pointed it out. “The first ship to carry astronauts to the moons of Jupiter.”

“It took them three years to get there. Longest voyage of its kind,” Keith said, the knowledge slipping out of him almost automatically. 

Shiro seemed pleasantly surprised that Keith knew that, if the way he squeezed Keith’s shoulder before letting go was any indication. 

“That’s right,” he said, letting out a soft chuckle.

Keith felt butterflies in his stomach with the way Shiro looked at him. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him like he wasn’t bothersome, like he wasn’t a burden, and even longer than someone had looked at him without some mixture of disappointment and pity. No one had looked at him like they cared, like he mattered, since his dad had died. 

“Reading about that mission is what made me wanna be a pilot,” Shiro said, his demeanor turning somber. “Those astronauts braved the unknown. People can accomplish incredible things if they’re willing to put in the time and effort.”

Shiro turned to look at Keith then, fixing him with a gaze that made Keith want to stand up a little straighter, hold himself a little higher.

“I wanna help you, Keith,” he said, and the blatant honesty in his voice took Keith’s breath away. “I think you’ve got a lot of potential, but what you decide to do with that potential is up to you.”

For whatever reason, Shiro seemed to see something in Keith, something that Keith couldn’t see in himself, but Shiro was certain it was there. It made Keith want to live up to what Shiro was so sure he could be. For the first time in his life since his dad died, someone actually believed that he was more than just some washed up foster kid who would never amount to anything. Takashi Shirogane, the greatest pilot to ever come out of the Galaxy Garrison, believed that he could make something out of himself.

To his unending wonder, Keith realized he didn’t want to let Shiro down.

☍

Keith absolutely hated the Garrison.

He loved being a pilot, even if he was only flying simulators at the moment, but he couldn’t stand all the rules and regulations, hated how everyone expected so damn much of him. They expected him to be grateful that Shiro vouched for him, that he was getting such an amazing opportunity, and he was, obviously. But they also expected him to be perfect, to follow every order to the letter, to be thankful to every commanding officer that walked past him simply because he never would have gotten here if it hadn’t been for Shiro’s _charity._

He couldn’t help but act out, ignoring orders and going off on his own. The other cadets didn’t like him, whether because of his background or the fact that he could outfly all of them he wasn’t sure. All he was certain of was that there were more people that hated him than tolerated him, and even if he never started the fights he sure as hell didn’t pull his punches. He knew he was getting close to the point of no return, where his actions would have severe and permanent consequences, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

James Griffin was the last fucking straw.

Even if Keith didn’t care about whether or not he got kicked out, Shiro did. Shiro had vouched for him, Shiro was the only reason he was even at the Garrison, and now he was getting chewed out by Commander Iverson all because Keith couldn’t just walk away.

“Hey,” Keith said, when Shiro finally came out of Iverson’s office, looking drained. “Look, I know I messed up. You should send me back to the home already. This place isn’t for me.”

He couldn’t bear to look at Shiro, couldn’t stand to see the disappointment on his face. He was letting Shiro down, he knew that, but for some reason he could never seem to avoid sabotaging himself. 

“Keith.” 

He braced himself for the inevitable. Shiro was going to give up on him, just like everybody else. He was going to realize that Keith was a disappointment, that he only ever let people down, that he wasn’t worth Shiro’s time and effort. He was going to realize that Keith wasn’t worth anything, really.

“You can do this.”

Keith couldn’t keep his head from snapping up to look at Shiro, shock and confusion obvious on his face. 

“I will never give up on you.”

Keith was not one to cry easily. From a young age he had learned to keep his emotions at bay, to ignore the way his throat hurt and keep his lip steady and refuse to let the tears that gathered in his eyes fall. Growing up without a mom, ending up all alone in the world when his dad died, the cruelty of too many of his foster parents, the beatings he got from other kids, it had all taught him how to hide his weaknesses, how to keep himself from crying. He’d gotten better at it as the years went on, finding it easier and easier to ignore the sobs that caught in his throat and the wetness that gathered in the corners of his eyes. But now he felt like he was six years old again and standing over his father’s grave with the effort it was taking to keep himself from breaking into tears. 

“But more importantly, you can’t give up on yourself.”

Keith had given up on himself long ago, everyone else had too. Why hadn’t Shiro?

“You don’t even know me,” he said, hating the way his voice broke, the raw emotion that he couldn’t hide. 

“You’re right. I don’t,” Shiro said, and he smiled at Keith, soft and kind and more certain than Keith had ever been of himself. “But sometimes, we all need a hand.”

And when Shiro held out his, Keith didn’t hesitate to take it.

☍

Shiro started taking Keith out into the desert. They’d spend whole days out there, racing hoverbikes until their skin was stained pink and the sun would begin to dip below the horizon. Even though Shiro should have Keith back at the Garrison before dark, they’d always take a couple minutes to enjoy the view. 

There were few things in the world as beautiful as a desert sunset. The sky would light up in all different shades of pink and purple, orange and red, and it almost seemed as though it were a different world entirely. 

Keith had grown up with them. Every night he and his dad would watch them from the front porch. His dad would have a can of Budweiser in his hand and a toothpick in his mouth as he in his favorite rocking chair, Keith sitting on his lap. They’d sit out there and watch as the sun disappeared and the traces of day faded away until the stars started to shine in the sky. Then his dad would pull the toothpick out of his mouth and use it to point up at the sky and say, “Your mom’s up there, kiddo. Say hi.”

And Keith would. They’d talk to her like that, he and his dad, tell her about their days and accomplishments and the plans they’d made for that night or the weekend. Those moments were some of the only times that Keith felt like his family was whole and the memories hurt in the best kind of way. 

Shiro hadn’t grown up with desert sunsets, but even after years at the Garrison the sight still captivated him. Shiro would marvel at the beauty of the sunset, and Keith would marvel at the beauty of Shiro.

Keith had his big gay crisis because of Shiro, except it wasn’t really all that much of a crisis and definitely not a big deal. It was more of an, “Oh, yeah,” kind of moment, and Keith was perfectly fine with it. He didn’t freak out, didn’t panic or anything like that. Sure, he felt like he was kind of totally in love with Shiro, but it was probably nothing more than a crush on the first person who had ever shown any sort of interest in him, a crush that would no doubt fade as time went on. Not to mention that it was never going to happen. Shiro definitely didn’t feel that way about Keith and never would, so Keith resolved to ignore his feelings. If he couldn’t have Shiro as a lover, then he would cherish him as a friend.

Keith started to talk to Shiro, to open up for the first time in his life. He told Shiro about his dad, about the kind of man he was. He told Shiro that he wanted to be the kind of man his dad would be proud of and Shiro didn’t hesitate in telling Keith he already was. He told Shiro about all the foster homes he had been in, all the shitty foster parents he’d had and the kids that never seemed to like him no matter how hard he tried to be their friend. He told him about how it felt like everyone at the Garrison just saw him as a charity case, how they couldn’t look past who he was to see his genuine talent and ability. Shiro told him that he wouldn’t have vouched for Keith if he didn’t think he deserved to be there, if he didn’t think that this was the best place for him to be.

Shiro opened up to him too. He told Keith about his own childhood, growing up in Japan and then moving to America and how different it all was, how much of a struggle it was to adjust at first but also how he grew to love this country and all the opportunities it had given him and his parents. He told Keith about Adam and that did kind of hurt but Keith was determined to be happy for Shiro. He was happy that Shiro had someone, that Shiro was happy, or so he told himself as he ignored the pang of jealousy and heartache that came over him any time Shiro even so much as mentioned Adam’s name. He told Keith about how he always wanted to be the best he could be because he knew there would be a day where he couldn’t, and Keith could tell there was more to that story but he didn’t want to push Shiro, couldn’t bear the thought of pushing him away. So Keith listened when Shiro talked, and Shiro listened when Keith talked, and they raced hoverbikes and teased one another and laughed together and Keith realized that he had made his first actual friend.

Some days they’d spend hours in the desert just talking about everything and nothing, enjoying each other’s company as they sat in the shade of their hoverbikes. Shiro didn’t treat Keith like another charity case or a naive child. He understood that Keith had been through more than most kids his age but he never pitied him, never treated him as though he were anything less than human, and Keith grew to treasure the moments they spent together. 

By the time Keith was seventeen he knew he was hopelessly and helplessly in love with Shiro. He’d loved Shiro for a long time now but this was different. It wasn’t a case of hero worship or dependency, wasn’t just some schoolgirl crush or base physical attraction, this was _real._ Keith wanted to be by Shiro’s side always, wanted to be there for the bad and the good and everything in between. He wanted to sleep beside Shiro, to wake up in his embrace every morning. He wanted to be able to lean into Shiro, press their arms together for no other reason than to just touch one another. He wanted to steal Shiro’s breath away with his lips, wanted to spend hours just running his hands through Shiro’s hair, wanted to spend whole nights camping out in the desert, only the two of them under the stars. Keith loved Shiro. Really, truly loved him.

He didn’t even think of saying anything about it. He was a kid to Shiro and he knew that Shiro didn’t feel the same way. He had Adam, after all, and even if he didn’t, Shiro probably saw him more as the little brother he’d never had. But that was okay, Keith was fine with it because he wanted Shiro to be happy even if it meant he couldn’t be with him. That didn’t lessen the ache in his heart, didn’t quiet the urge Keith had to lace his fingers with Shiro’s, to rest his head on Shiro’s shoulder as they watched the sun set, to kiss him in the hazy safety of twilight. But Keith didn’t do any of that, because if he did then he would lose everything.

Keith would take as much of Shiro as he could get, and if this was all he got then it was enough.

☍

Keith always knew Shiro was going to go to Kerberos. Even before the crew for the mission was announced, Keith knew. They’d have to pick Shiro, the best pilot the Garrison had ever had, and there was no way that Shiro would say no. 

Adam wasn’t happy about it and Keith understood that, probably better than anyone else. Too often it seemed like Shiro never knew when too far was far enough, always pushing himself and the boundaries, and Keith could have only imagined how frustrating it must have been to date him. God knows Keith had enough of Shiro’s gallant bullshit as his friend, he could only imagine how Adam must feel. 

It seemed like nothing was as important to Shiro as his job, as his mission. He was constantly risking his life without thought to those who cared about him. Takashi Shirogane, determined to go farther than anyone ever had, to go above and beyond the call of duty. He was a heroic bastard and Adam hated that about him as much as he loved it. Shiro’s valor, his courage, his boldness and his lack of fear all defined him, it was all who he was and it was annoying as shit to deal with. But that was who Adam had fallen in love with, who Keith had fallen in love with too.

Keith always knew Shiro was going to go to Kerberos, but that didn’t stop his heart from breaking when Shiro told him so. He didn’t want Shiro to go either, he wanted him to stay at the Garrison, to stay with Keith. It was selfish and a hopeless hope, but Keith couldn’t help himself from wanting. 

He started to feel like he was running out of time with Shiro. He found himself trying to commit more of Shiro to memory, like how he would snort when he laughed if he found something particularly funny, or the way the desert sunset on his face made him look like a masterpiece, or those special, rare smiles he’d give Keith _just because._ He paid extra attention to the shape of Shiro’s jaw and the way the muscle in it would tick whenever he concentrated especially hard, the way his eyebrow would quirk to tell Keith he wasn’t serious when he affectionately teased him, the way his hair would fall into his eyes and he’d unconsciously flick it out of his face only for it to land in almost exactly the same spot as it was in before. 

Then suddenly, even though the Kerberos mission was months away, it felt like their time had run out. Shiro had preparations to make, tests to run, work to do, and he didn’t have time for Keith anymore. 

It wasn’t like they never saw one another. Shiro would still say hello when they passed each other in the halls and he would even hunt Keith down to briefly catch up on the rare occasion he had a spare moment, but they didn’t go out in the desert anymore, they didn’t talk like they used to. Shiro was too busy preparing for Kerberos and Keith had just started proper fighter pilot training and there simply weren’t enough hours in the day for either of them.

Without Shiro there to challenge his pilot abilities, Keith found himself getting restless. He had too much pent up energy and no way to release it. He tried taking his bike out in the desert on his own, practicing maneuvers and perfecting his natural talents, but it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t _fun_ without Shiro, just another chore. 

He started to sneak out to the training rooms when he couldn’t sleep. The rooms weren’t on anyone’s night patrol list and he knew all the hall monitor’s routines by heart from all the times he’d had to sneak back into the dorms after Shiro kept him out in the desert too long, so it ended up being a bit bit too easy to get in. He started spending a few hours there every night, burning off energy by running through drills and fighting sequences. Even though he was sleeping a little less than he probably should, his hand-to-hand combat scores started to improve and he found that the exercise helped work off the energy that always seemed to be thrumming under the surface of his skin.

“You should be in bed.”

Keith very nearly shit himself, whirling around to come face to face with none other than Shiro standing in the doorway. He was smirking, no doubt finding himself absolutely hilarious with how he’d managed to scare the living daylights out Keith who, for his part, was trying to get his heart to stop pounding so hard. 

“You’re one to talk,” he replied, hating the way his voice shook with nerves that hadn’t yet calmed. 

Shiro huffed out a laugh and shook his head, stepping into the room entirely. He stripped off his sweatshirt and threw it off to the side, leaving him in only exercise pants and a tank top, and Keith’s heart started to pound a bit harder. Shiro moved until he was across from him on the mat and fell into a fighting stance. Keith raised an eyebrow at him.

“You can’t be serious,” he said, disbelieving, and a mischievous glint appeared in Shiro’s eyes.

“What, you afraid this old timer is gonna kick your ass?”

Keith didn’t bother with a response as he darted forward. He knew that Shiro had the advantage in strength, but what Keith lacked in brute force he made up for in speed. Or so he thought.

It took Shiro less than a minute to get Keith flat on his back on the mat. Shiro smirked at him and Keith couldn’t help but grin back, reaching out to grab the hand Shiro offered to him. He had missed this, had missed _Shiro._ Once Keith was back on his feet Shiro fell into a fighting stance once more and Keith’s grin widened as he charged him again. 

It became a routine then, sparring for an hour or two each night after everyone had gone to bed, when there was no one around to hear their playful jibes and teasing insults. Shiro, the absolute bastard, didn’t have to sneak around at night, unlike Keith who very nearly got caught a few times. Shiro held that fact over Keith’s head, telling Keith that if he got caught he’d have to bail himself out, but they both knew Shiro didn’t really mean that. 

They were both giving up precious hours of sleep but it was worth it just to be able to see each other regularly again, to hang out like they used to. Keith treasured these stolen moments. 

Shiro was as good a fighter as he was a pilot and Keith found himself learning a lot from him, far more than he was learning in his combat classes. Shiro actually paid attention to his strengths and weaknesses, helped him improve in the areas that he needed it most rather than just having him run the same set of drills over and over again. Shiro was a great teacher if Keith’s skyrocketing hand-to-hand combat scores were any indication, and Keith understood now more than ever why everyone in the Garrison looked up to him.

“You let your anger control you,” Shiro said when he had Keith pinned to the mat for the seventeenth time that night.

His arm was pushing against Keith’s chest, keeping him pressed to the mat, as he straddled Keith’s torso. He leaned in closer so his face was only a few inches away, and when he spoke Keith could feel his breath against his lips. It made him dizzy.

“You attack too quickly, without any thought or strategy. Learn to wait for the right moment. Your instincts aren’t any good if you don’t have the concentration to use them.”

Shiro finally got up, off of Keith, and Keith had to take a moment to calm his racing heart. He climbed up off the mat and back onto his feet, falling into a fighting stance once more. He didn’t rush Shiro this time though, as he had tried so many times before. Rather he used strategy, carefully looking for a moment of weakness to exploit, an opportunity to get in a decent hit. He and Shiro circled each other on the mat, both of them waiting for the other to move first. Shiro was grinning at him, chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath, hair stuck with sweat to his forehead and Keith felt a sudden surge of satisfaction knowing that he was probably the only person that got to see Shiro like this.

“Remember, patience—”

Shiro didn’t get to finish his sentence as Keith was lunging forward, laughing as he _finally_ managed to land his first hit of the night.

☍

The night before Shiro left for Kerberos, Keith found him in the training room. 

He had expected Shiro to be in bed, getting a good night’s rest before his mission the next day, but here he was. There was no doubt he had been here for a while already if the sheen of sweat dusting his exposed skin was any indication. He had taken off his shirt, leaving him in just a pair of loose exercise pants, and Keith couldn’t help but stare at the rapid rise and fall of Shiro’s bare chest. He looked up as Keith walked in, a pleasantly exhausted smile taking over his features. He ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair to push it off his forehead and Keith’s knees went weak at the sight.

As Shiro walked over to the side of the room Keith watched him, his gaze appreciative of the movements of Shiro’s defined muscles as he tugged his shirt back on. His arms were still on display and Keith found himself having trouble tearing his eyes away. He was hoping for one last chance for them to spar together but Shiro had other ideas, cocking his head in indication for Keith to follow him.

Even though Shiro didn’t have to sneak through the hallways of the Garrison he did, avoiding the hall monitors and ducking beneath the windows to the officer’s lounge. Keith followed him, unsure as to where exactly they were going. The path was unfamiliar to him, but as they began to travel up flights of stairs Keith could guess at their destination.

Just as he thought, they ended up on the roof. He had never been up here before, had never really found the inclination, but now that he was up here he could see the appeal. He couldn’t help but imagine himself returning, spending nights gazing up at the stars as he hoped and prayed for Shiro’s safe return. The view was breathtaking, and even though Keith had grown up out here he couldn’t help but be captivated by the sight.

It was a beautiful night, a bit chilly like all nights in the desert but still holding onto the remnants of the day’s heat. Shiro sat down against the wall next to the door and Keith joined him, sitting so close they were nearly pressed together. They didn’t say anything to one another, didn’t talk about what tomorrow would bring or what any of it meant. They just sat together and took pleasure in each other’s quiet company.

Their eyes wandered up to the night sky, the stars that Shiro would be among in mere hours. It seemed so far away, yet it was already upon them. Tomorrow, Shiro would be gone. A year and a half he would be up there, out in the vast nothingness of space. He’d have Matt and Sam Holt with him of course, but it was still a long time to be away from those he loved, from those who loved him.

Adam had given Shiro an ultimatum and Shiro had made his choice. Keith wasn’t entirely sure what that meant for them, if that was truly the end or if things might change when Shiro got back, but he knew that right now, in this moment, Shiro was entirely his and his alone. 

Keith couldn’t keep his gaze from returning to earth, to Shiro. His eyes followed the defined line of his jaw, the gentle curve of his lips, the strong bridge of his nose. He took in the expression of wonder on his face as he looked up to the unknown. Shiro, as though sensing eyes upon him, turned to Keith then and gave him one of those rare, special smiles, so genuine it made Keith’s heart ache. He couldn’t help himself any longer. He leaned in.

But then Shiro’s hand was on his chest, keeping him in place mere inches away. Shiro’s soft smile twisted into one of bittersweet disappointment and Keith instantly regretted everything he had just done, wished with all his heart he could take it back. Of course he ruined this. He ruined _everything._

“Keith—”

“I know,” Keith interrupted, voice barely a whisper and desperate to fix the mistake he had made. “I’m sorry, I know, Shiro. I just— I wanted something to remember you by.”

They were close, so close. Shiro’s hand was warm on his chest, right over his heart, and Keith knew he must be able to feel the way it was pounding against his ribcage, knew Shiro must hear the nervousness in the tremble of his voice. Shiro huffed out a laugh that sounded just this side of too sad, a laugh that Keith could swear he felt brush against his lips. 

“I’m going to space, not war,” Shiro said, and his voice was a whisper as well, as though he couldn’t bring himself to break the secret of this moment.

“There’s still a chance you won’t come back.”

Keith saw the way Shiro’s heart broke at his quiet confession, the almost rueful grin that had been on his face falling at Keith’s words. He looked at Keith with an expression that didn’t quite make sense. There was a curiosity in his brow, a confliction in the line of his mouth, resolve in the set of his jaw, and through all of it his eyes carried sorrow. For the first time in a very long time, Keith couldn’t figure out what Shiro was thinking.

Shiro’s hand started to move then, sliding slowly up his chest and up over his neck. His palm came to cradle Keith’s jaw, his thumb brushing over Keith’s cheek so barely there that Keith wondered if he was imagining it. Then Shiro was the one leaning in.

Keith had always imagined that Shiro would kiss the same way he flew: passionately, intensely, with all of his heart and soul.

Shiro didn’t kiss at all like Keith expected, but it was still so _right._

It was the softest press of lips against his own, no sense of hurry or need to be found. As tender as could be Shiro pushed forward, moving closer as he enveloped Keith’s bottom lip just barely between his own. Keith couldn’t help the way he sighed into the kiss, the way his eyes fluttered closed as his hands came to rest on Shiro’s shoulders. He tried to pull Shiro closer but Shiro’s hand moved to his waist, keeping him from getting too close. Shiro was delicate with him, from the way he cradled Keith’s jaw so gently to the way he rubbed reassuring circles into his hip with his thumb. It was as though he was worried Keith might break if he didn’t handle him with care. Keith couldn’t help but melt against Shiro’s mouth as their lips slid together, slow and soft and saccharine.

Keith thought that he could be happy doing this all night, just kissing Shiro under the stars, but too soon Shiro was pulling away and Keith couldn’t help the shaky exhale that left him as he chased after Shiro, desperate for the feeling of those lips on his once again. Shiro huffed out a laugh, a small smile coming onto his face as he rested his forehead against Keith’s, keeping their lips from meeting once more with the hand cradling his face. His thumb was still stroking across Keith’s cheekbone, soft and gentle and reassuring, and Keith’s heart soared as high as the stars in the sky.

“We’ll talk when I get back,” Shiro whispered, a promise that Keith couldn’t wait for him to keep.

Then he was pulling away, standing up and going back inside, leaving Keith to look up at the stars alone as his heart ached and the warmth on his lips faded away.

☍

The Kerberos crew was missing.

The Garrison attributed it to pilot error but Keith knew that was bullshit the moment he heard it. Shiro didn’t make mistakes. Shiro was missing and they didn’t know what happened to him or if they did know then they weren’t telling anyone. Shiro was _missing._

Keith didn’t know it was possible to hurt like this. It felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest, like a part of him was missing, like he was underwater and no matter how hard he swam he never reached the surface. He couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think— hell, he felt like he couldn’t _breathe_ most of the time. Shiro was gone and Keith didn’t know what the fucking point was anymore. 

Fuck the Garrison, Keith thought. Fuck the Garrison and all their bullshit. Without Shiro there was no point, no one who believed in him anymore. Everyone knew the only reason he was there was because of Shiro, who had vouched for him and mentored him, who was the only person who actually wanted to see him succeed. But Shiro wasn’t there anymore. Shiro was missing and there was the all too real possibility he wasn’t coming back.

Why bother with any of it anymore?

Keith started acting out again, started to let his anger control and consume him. He ignored direct commands, did whatever he felt like, and fought anyone who even so much as looked at him the wrong way. It took him just under two weeks to get expelled. 

“Shiro would be so disappointed in you,” Commander Iverson said at his dismissal.

It took three fully grown men to pull Keith away from beating Iverson’s face into a bloody pulp.

He ended up out in the desert, at his dad’s old place. He was eighteen now so he had his inheritance, small though it was, no obligation to return to the system, and all the opportunities open to Galaxy Garrison washouts, which is to say none. The house had seen better days. No one had lived in it since his dad died and it had become run down in the nearly twelve years since Keith had last been there. There were bugs everywhere, the wallpaper was peeling off, half of the windows were broken and there was no running water or gas or air conditioning. It was miserable, but it was all Keith had left. 

It didn’t feel like home anymore but he had this innate feeling that it was exactly where he needed to be. He wasn’t sure why, he didn’t have any idea of what he was supposed to be doing out there, but he just knew somehow that he was right where he was supposed to be. 

He started exploring the desert, searching for something, _anything_ to tell him why he felt like he was drawn out to this place. He started tracking energy signatures, coming up with what should have been impossible anomalies. He explored the cave systems scattered about and found strange things, ancient carvings of lions and hieroglyphs that weren’t from any known language. There was so much he didn’t understand but he recorded everything, kept monitoring the energy signatures, kept searching the desert for that which he could not explain. 

He needed to believe that what he was doing was important, that it would bring him closer to finding Shiro, so he went through the motions each day even though he felt like he was going insane and he believed so hard it hurt. He spent his days trying to feel like he wasn’t dying or already dead. He spent sleepless nights missing a body that was never his, aching to hear a voice that got harder to remember just right and for a smile that haunted his dreams. He spent a year hopelessly hoping. 

Then one night something crashed in the desert and he was gone before he really even realized why, because he _knew._

☍

Shiro was back. Keith had dreamed of this moment, prayed for it, hoped against all hope, and finally Shiro was _back._ But things had changed. _He_ had changed. 

He was more somber now, more stoic. His mouth was set in a constant frown, his gaze carried a heaviness to it that spoke of severe sorrow, and there was a tension in his brow that never seemed to ease. It all made him look so much older than he really was. His hair had gone pure white at the front from stress that Keith couldn’t even begin to imagine, and oh, yeah, there was also the _metal fucking arm._

Keith knew that there were parts of Shiro that hadn’t come back, that never would come back. He knew Shiro had changed, that the Shiro he once knew was not the same person that stood before him, but he also knew that nothing had changed, not really. This was still Shiro, no matter what he had been through, and Keith still loved him no matter who he was now. 

Keith watched from a window as Shiro stood out in the desert sun, giving him a few more moments of peace and solitude before following him out of the house. He put his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, to reassure him or himself that this was real, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“It’s good to have you back,” he said, and his honesty nearly took his breath away.

Shiro gave him a small smile that was meant to put him at ease but it only served to make Shiro’s worry and concern more obvious. But even through the strain Keith could see that there was a warmth in his eyes, a softness in his gaze that was meant just for him, and his heart soared.

“It’s good to be back,” Shiro said, and even through the relief Keith could hear the remnants of stress. 

“So what happened out there?” he asked, pulling his hand away. Then, quieter and more uncertain and with a whole other meaning, “Where were you?”

“I wish I could tell you,” Shiro said, and there was a shakiness to his voice that Keith had never heard before. Shiro was _scared._ Keith knew that, logically, Shiro had to have been scared before, likely many times. But he had never _shown_ it, not so openly at least, not to Keith.

“My head’s still pretty scrambled. I was on an alien ship… somehow I escaped. It’s all a blur.”

The pain was evident in his voice and Keith couldn’t even begin to imagine what Shiro must have gone through. He longed to wrap his arms around Shiro, to pull him close and promise him that everything would be okay, he was home now, he didn’t need to be scared anymore, Keith would die before he let anything hurt him again. But now was not the time, and it certainly wasn’t Keith’s place. 

Shiro turned to look at him, fixing him with a gaze that was as full of gratitude as it was with disbelief. 

“How did you know to come save me when I crashed?”

And god, there was so much Keith wanted to say. He wanted to tell Shiro that he’d save him as many times as he needed saving, that he’d always be there for him, that Shiro should know by now that Keith would always manage to find him no matter where he was in the universe. But there were too many questions and not enough answers so Keith quieted the confessions of his heart and simply said, “You should come see this.”

☍

They finally got what felt like their first free moment in ages. 

Everyone was elated by their win against Sendak but they were also exhausted, ready to get some rest for the first time since leaving Earth. So much had happened, there was so much new information for them all to take in. Suddenly they were all a part of something greater than themselves; they were Paladins of Voltron now, the saviors of the universe. It was as unbelievable as it was formidable and every member of the team felt the weight of such a consequential burden. Though they had a long way to go before they were ready to save anyone, they had already proven to themselves that they were capable of far more than they had ever imagined. 

One by one, the paladins said their goodnights as they made their way into their new rooms, until Keith and Shiro were the only ones left. They stood outside their own doors, staring at each other. Neither of them was sure what to say or even what could be said. Just in the past few days, their entire understanding of the universe and their place in it had been upended. Everything they knew about themselves and each other had been challenged. Where could they even begin?

Finally, Shiro broke the silence.

“So much for not going off to war, huh?” he said, an almost apologetic smile on his face.

Keith couldn’t help but huff out a laugh, exhausted enough by the events of the past few days to actually find Shiro’s terrible attempt at a joke somewhat funny. He shook his head, smiling back at Shiro then turning around, fully intent on falling into bed and sleeping for at least a full day, but before he could even open his door Shiro stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Keith turned back to find him looking worried, almost insecure as he dropped his hand back to his side. Shiro opened his mouth but then paused, not quite knowing what he wanted to say, or rather not knowing how to say what he thought. 

“I know I said we’d talk when I got back, but—”

It’s fine,” Keith said, and he meant it. “A lot has happened, and a lot’s gonna happen. Now’s not exactly the best time to talk about… you know.”

He trailed off with a sheepish shrug, offering Shiro a small but honest smile. Shiro smiled back at him, relieved and sincere, the first real smile that Keith had seen from him since all this had happened. A warmth spread through Keith’s chest and for the first time since before the Kerberos mission, he felt genuinely _happy._

“There’s a lot I need to figure out,” Shiro admitted quietly. “A lot of questions that I need answers to. But as soon as I get my head on straight, we _will_ talk. I promise.”

Keith reached out and took Shiro’s hand in his own, loosely lacing their fingers together, and his heart skipped a beat when Shiro intertwined their fingers tighter.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

☍

Keith really thought that this might be it for them. They were trapped on an alien planet with a busted lion and no way to contact the rest of the team. They would have been fine to wait it out but Shiro’s wound was bad and getting worse with every passing hour. Keith could tell he was growing weaker even though he was trying to hide just how bad it really was. Honestly, when was Shiro going to realize that he couldn’t hide anything from Keith?

Still, Shiro kept acting like it wasn’t as bad as it really was, not wanting to be the reason for Keith’s concern. They both knew he was running on borrowed time, but there was nothing they could do besides wait and hope against all hope that someone, _anyone,_ was coming for them. 

Keith made Shiro talk to him about anything and everything, afraid that if Shiro fell asleep he wouldn’t wake up again. So Shiro talked. 

He told Keith about what Sendak’s voice said to him when the Castle was infected, about how it made him feel like he was going insane, like it was only a matter of time before he lost his mind entirely. He told Keith about how he felt like a monster after learning what he did to earn and keep the name of Champion, about how his Galra arm was the strongest part of him and yet it made him feel like he was the enemy. He told Keith that there were times when he didn’t feel like he was worthy of being a paladin, let alone their leader. He’d never tell the others this but there was a part of him that didn’t believe they could defeat Zarkon, that he’d already won and they were fighting a losing battle in a war that had been lost long before any of them were even born.

Keith sat, and he listened, and he ignored his heart breaking at each of Shiro’s confessions. All he could do was reassure Shiro that he wasn’t a monster, he wasn’t the enemy, and that he was a far better man than he realized. He admitted himself that he had the same fears as Shiro about Zarkon but also that he knew they still had to keep fighting because giving up was never an option. After all, Shiro never gave up on Keith, even when he probably should have. They may not win every battle, they may not even win the war, but they had to at least try. 

“Thanks for saving me,” Shiro said, obviously trying to change the subject and Keith didn’t have the heart not to let him. He shrugged and smiled at Shiro, soft but honest. 

“You’d’ve done the same for me,” he said, and it’s true; Shiro had saved him, kept on saving him even if he didn’t realize he was doing it. “How’s your wound?”

“My wound’s great,” Shiro said with that sarcastic tone he only seemed to use around Keith, that tone that made Keith feel like he was being let in on the secret that Shiro wasn’t some noble, gallant hero but human, just like all the rest of them. “It’s getting bigger all the time.” 

The concern on Keith’s face must have shown because Shiro grimaced before adding, almost apologetically, “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Hang in there. When Allura and Coran find us, they’ll fix you right up,” Keith told him, trying to sound like he believed it. 

Shiro knew him almost as well as he knew Shiro, though. They could see right through each other. Shiro knew just how worried Keith really was, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

“Keith,” he said, and the tone of his voice was too close to goodbye. “If I don’t make it outta here, I want you to lead Voltron.”

There was obviously so much more that Shiro wanted to say, it was written plain as day across his face, but Keith was not going to let him do this now. He refused to let Shiro pull this shit on him, not after everything they’d been through, everything they’d survived.

“Stop talking like that,” Keith said forcefully. “You’re gonna make it.”

Shiro had to make it. There was so much that they still needed to talk about, so much that Keith wanted to say, so much he wanted— no, _needed_ Shiro to know. It couldn’t end like this. Keith refused to let it end like this.

Shiro smiled sadly at him, opened his mouth to say something and Keith’s heart was pounding in his chest because maybe this really _was_ goodbye, at least for Shiro. But then suddenly the sky brightened and they looked up to see a wormhole and _thank god,_ the Green Lion was coming towards them. They were rescued. Whatever Shiro was going to say could wait because _they had time._

☍

The Blade of Marmora changed _everything._

Keith was part Galra. It was irrefutable. Allura outright hated him and even if the others didn’t feel the same way she did, they still saw him differently. How couldn’t they? He may look human but he wasn’t, not entirely. He was part _Galra._ At least on his mom’s side, anyway, and even though she was likely a former Blade and thus fighting on the right side of this war, it was like Allura said: they’d had 10,000 years to stop Zarkon. It was hard to trust any of them. 

It was hard to trust Keith now too. After all, he was part of the same race that had spread throughout the universe like a plague destroying everything in its path, the same race that had subjugated and enslaved countless planets, the same race that had destroyed Altea and all its people for no other reason than because it could. He was practically the enemy. 

Keith didn’t blame the others for how they felt. He’d suspected his heritage for some time now, but to have actual confirmation was a different thing entirely. He understood that their reactions to him were innate and uncontrollable, that it was an uncomfortable adjustment. He knew because he had the same reaction to himself. He didn’t trust in himself anymore, couldn’t help but question everything he thought he knew about his entire life.

The only one who didn’t seem bothered by the new revelation was Shiro. He still treated Keith like a friend, still smiled at him like he always did, still _cared_ about him. He didn’t look at Keith as though he was the enemy, didn’t treat him like he’d suddenly turned into an alien or like he didn’t belong with them anymore. He looked at Keith the same way he always had, with a warmth in his gaze, a secret in his smile, and a glint of pride in his eye. Keith couldn’t help but feel like he didn’t deserve it. 

The team avoided him now, Allura most of all but the others did too, almost unconsciously. Keith knew that they didn’t mean to, that they probably just needed some time to adjust to him the same way he needed time to adjust to himself, but it still hurt.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Shiro remarked one day when it was just the two of them in the lounge after the others had given pathetic excuses as to why they suddenly had to leave. “How both of my right arms ended up being Galra. And how I still trust in them.”

He gave Keith a look as though daring him to disagree, because that was Shiro. He refused to give up on Keith, no matter how much of a disappointment he turned out to be. Keith could only sigh and shake his head before hanging it in defeat.

“You don’t get it, Shiro.”

How could he? Keith just found out he was _part fucking Galra,_ this wasn’t a case of youthful rebellion or the result of a rough upbringing. Shiro couldn’t fix this. Shiro couldn’t fix _Keith,_ not this time.

“You’re right,” Shiro said, and Keith couldn’t help but look back up at him. “I don’t. But sometimes, we all need a hand.”

And suddenly Keith is fifteen again, sitting outside Iverson’s office after punching James Griffin in the face, fully prepared to bear the brunt of Shiro’s disappointment that never seems to come. It’s too much.

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“Just— stop believing in me, okay?” Keith said, voice raised in anger. “Stop it. All I’m ever gonna do is disappoint you. You should just give up on me, okay?”

“Keith,” Shiro said, in that tone that was as full of honesty as it was with disbelief that Keith would even suggest such a thing. “I will never give up on you.”

“You should!”

Keith was yelling now. He was angry, angry at Shiro, at Lance and Hunk and Pidge and Allura and Coran, at everyone. Everyone else was treating him like he had changed but Shiro was treating him like he was exactly the same and the constant back and forth was starting to give Keith a headache.

“Everyone else already has.”

“That’s not true—”

“And what would you know of it?” Keith snapped, unable to hold back his viciousness. “They all hate me!”

“Keith, nobody—”

“Coran hates me, Lance and Hunk and Pidge hate me, Allura _really_ hates me. Shiro, everybody hates me now.”

“They just need some time to adjust, okay? _You_ need some time to adjust. But they’ll come around eventually, they just need a little while to realize you’re still yourself.”

“I don’t feel like myself,” Keith admitted, a quiet confession as the fight and anger left him suddenly. “I feel like a stranger.”

And Shiro gave him a look. It was not one of pity because Shiro had never pitied Keith before and he wasn’t going to start now, but it was still too close for Keith’s comfort. Keith shook his head at Shiro and gave him a joyless smile before he turned around to leave, hoping that Shiro hadn’t seen the way tears were gathering in his eyes. But before he could take a single step Shiro’s hand was wrapping around his wrist, pulling him back around and into Shiro’s arms.

One of Shiro’s arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close as the other hand gently tangled in his hair, and Keith couldn’t resist burying his face in Shiro’s neck. The hand on his waist moved to rub up and down Keith’s back, smooth and steady and soothing. Keith couldn’t help the way he shakily exhaled as he started to silently cry into the fabric of Shiro’s collar. Shiro kept holding on to him and Keith’s own arms wrapped around Shiro as though it were second nature. 

“It’s okay, Keith,” Shiro said, and the honesty in his voice made Keith’s breath catch in his throat. “It’ll all be okay.”

Shiro pressed a kiss to the side of Keith’s head, firm and unwavering, and even though he had no reason to, Keith couldn’t help but believe him.

☍

The night before they fought Zarkon was not the most ideal of times to talk but there was the very real possibility that it would be the last chance they’d get.

The others were all hopeful, confident that good would triumph over evil, but they were all still so young, pure as the unblemished snow. Even with all they’d been through, they were seemingly uncontaminated by the evil they bore witness to. Even Allura, after having her planet and entire race destroyed by the Galra, was still optimistic. 

Keith and Shiro were not. They were realists. Of course they wanted to defeat Zarkon, to save the universe, to triumph over evil, but they also knew that in the real world the good guys don’t always win. Life wasn’t fair, bad things happened to good people, and no matter how hard they believed in themselves and each other, there was a high probability that the next day might be their last.

Keith had made his decision. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and made his way to Shiro’s room. There were a few times that he nearly turned back and even once he was at the door it took him a couple moments to muster up the courage to knock, but he did. His mouth was open, ready to say everything he needed to say, but when Shiro opened the door Keith couldn’t get a word out. 

Shiro looked so weary, so much _older_ than Keith ever remembered seeing him. He looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and Keith could only imagine how exhausting it must have been. He was supposed to be their fearless leader, supposed to be the one to tell them that they could do whatever they put their mind to, supposed to be the one that believed in them no matter their chances. But Shiro had been through more than all of them combined. 

How could he believe, when he knew first hand what happened to those that had done nothing wrong? How could he believe, after being forced to fight, forced to _kill_ others whose only crime was to live a life of peace and freedom? How could he believe, with all that he’d seen and all that he’d done, that good would triumph over evil? 

There was so much Keith still wanted to say, wanted Shiro to know, but he couldn’t bring himself to add to Shiro’s burden. All Keith did, all Keith could do was pull Shiro into a hug and try to give him the last bit of hope he had left. 

Shiro’s arms came to rest around his waist, holding him tight as he dropped his head to rest on Keith’s shoulder. He turned his face into Keith’s neck, shaky exhales tickling Keith’s skin and they stood there for an eternity in a moment, just holding each other.

Without letting go, Keith gently pushed Shiro back and into the room, until eventually they managed to stumble their way to the bed, practically falling back onto the sheets. Shiro’s arms stayed wrapped around Keith’s waist, holding as tight as he could without it hurting, his face still buried in Keith’s neck as he turned them so he half covered Keith’s body with his own. Keith kept one arm wrapped around Shiro’s shoulders but he let his other hand tangle in Shiro’s hair, trying to pull him impossibly closer, and together they lay there and revelled in their mere existence.

Keith’s hand in Shiro’s hair gently ran through the strands, soothing him, until Shiro’s shoulders lost their tension and his breaths lost their forced nature, falling into a natural rhythm alongside Keith’s. Shiro’s warm breath on Keith’s neck, his fingers pressing a tempo against Keith’s skin, the warmth of their bodies pressed together, it all reminded them both that they were _real._

Keith was just about to drift off when he felt Shiro press the gentlest of kisses to his neck, soft and bittersweet and barely there. Keith responded in kind with a kiss to Shiro’s temple, just the merest press of lips against skin, and he knew that even if they didn’t talk, even if they never got the chance to talk, it was okay. Even without words, they knew exactly what the other wanted to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked very, very hard on this chapter and I would absolutely love if you left kudos or a comment with your thoughts on how it turned out ^-^


	8. Odi Et Amo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.” _  
― Aristotle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I guess some stuff happens here… yeah…

Keith is exhausted. He and Lance have just gotten back from a particularly difficult mission and all he wants to do is crawl into bed and hide under his blankets for a few days.

They’d managed to destroy an entire Galra fleet with only two Lions but it wasn’t enough. They should have been there sooner. The small moon that had been occupied by the Galra had been stripped of all its resources long before they arrived. 

Even though the people of the moon would have all died if Keith and Lance hadn’t arrived when they did, tens of thousands of beings were now homeless, refugees forced to abandon the only home they had ever known. They had nothing. No possessions, no supplies, absolutely _nothing._ A squadron of Freedom Fighters would be by shortly to pick them up and help them relocate, but will it be enough? What of the families, the children? What will be left of them when their able-bodied go off to fight in a war that is not their own?

Not for the first time, Keith can’t help but wonder just how much help Voltron really is to the universe. Sure, they can destroy Galra installments and drive out occupying forces, take out entire fleets in a matter of minutes, but that’s only half the battle.

Those who had lived under the rule of the Galra must rebuild their entire existence from scratch, learn to live a life that is free for the first time in centuries. There are planets that descend into chaos without the Empire’s occupation, civil wars that break out, warlords that take over and rule with a bloody fist. Formerly advanced civilizations become nothing more than lawless provinces, breeding grounds for criminal enterprises and evil by another name.

Voltron has neither the time nor the resources to stay on those planets and stabilize them. Even the Freedom Fighters and the Blade of Marmora can only do so much. They’re supposed to spread peace and stability throughout the universe but too often it seems as though the path they walk is one of violence, leaving nothing but destruction and desolation in their wake. Living free is better than living under Galra control, but where does the price they pay for that freedom end?

It’s too much for Keith, too much shame and guilt for him to deal with on top of everything else. It’s been rough since the truth came out, to say the least.

Everyone knows now but they try — and fail, miserably — to pretend like nothing has changed and everything comes across as stilted and awkward. All they need is a bit of time to adjust, Keith knows that, but he can’t help but feel somewhat insulted. _Now_ they’re going to act like they don’t know? 

It’s what Keith wants, it’s what’s easiest but at the same time, he can’t help but wish that it were different. The disparity gives him a headache if he thinks about it too much, constantly torn between what he thinks he should want and what he actually wants. It’s starting to feel like just existing is exhausting. 

Lance is more upset with him than the others. He’s pissed off that Keith didn’t tell him about what happened, but Keith is confused as to why. Sure, they’re brothers in arms, but it’s not like they’re best friends. They’re definitely not close enough for Keith to confide in Lance about something like this.

He doesn’t understand why Lance seems to take it as a personal insult that Keith kept his silence. He can’t help but wonder if Lance is angrier that Keith didn’t tell him about what happened more than he’s angry about what actually happened and the thought of that pisses Keith the fuck off. Lance has no right, no fucking right to insert himself into this. It was Keith’s choice as to whether or not he told anyone about this, a choice that was taken away from him, and at the very least Lance should fucking respect that. It’s up to Keith to decide how he deals with this and if Lance is going to be upset because he wasn’t let in on the horrible truth then that’s his problem. Except it isn’t really, because when Lance is angry he’s a fucking bitch.

He barely even talks to Keith anymore unless it’s out of necessity. For the entirety of their assignment, Lance barely said a word. He only spoke when absolutely necessary and even then he was passive aggressive, his tone betraying just how upset with Keith he really was. It’s not until they’ve pulled into the hangar bay and gotten out of their Lions that Lance finally breaks his stony silence.

“You should have told us.”

“Fuck you,” Keith replies, and that’s the end of that conversation. 

Lance storms off without another word, probably heading to debrief Allura and the others about their mission. He’ll no doubt tell them about his exchange with Keith, as well, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s not like anyone will say anything to him about it. They’ll just go on pretending like nothing is wrong, like they’re not punishing Shiro with exile, like they’re not pitying Keith, and even though no one will talk about it, Keith has no doubt that they’ll end up doing something about it. 

Hunk has started to make Keith his taste tester, forcing him to try all his new recipes. Keith only ever seems to taste the good batches though, not the ones that have gone terribly, horribly wrong. Keith knows that Hunk has always shown his love and care through food, knows that Hunk has probably picked up on his lack of appetite and decided he was the one to do something about it, so Keith eats everything that’s put in front of him with as much of a smile as he can muster and pretends the food doesn’t turn to ash in his mouth.

Pidge manages to rope Keith into being her test dummy. She mostly has him try out armor and weapon modifications, but then she starts putting him up against revised gladiator bots. She has him run through simulation after simulation, taking careful notes as he fights. She doesn’t talk to him other than to give him pointers as to what fighting styles work best with what weapons and to ramble about the unique strengths and weaknesses of her armor alterations. She makes adjustments based on Keith’s evaluations and then makes him test the improved modifications, starting the cycle all over again. 

Pidge doesn’t bullshit him. She doesn’t pretend that she’s not doing this to keep him distracted, doesn’t pretend that this isn’t her own way of taking care of him and offering him help. She doesn’t say any of that though and for that Keith is thankful. He doesn’t tell her that after hours of being her guinea pig he runs through another few hours of punishing simulations on his own. 

Coran drags him into chore duty. It’s terrible _and_ terribly boring as Coran spends the entire time regaling Keith with stories from his youth and he finds himself tuning out Coran’s chatter more often than he actually listens in. The work is long and tiresome, and by the end of it Keith is aching all over, utterly exhausted. He doesn’t mention to Coran that he’s noticed that they’ve cleaned the same room, one that’s never used, three times in one week. He just lets the chemicals dry out his hands until his skin cracks and bleeds.

Romelle gets Keith to teach her how to fight and he can only assume that it’s because of Shiro. When Haggar first took over the clone’s mind, she had him strike everyone down, and while the others were able to put up a fight, Romelle had been entirely defenseless with no skills whatsoever to protect herself. Keith can understand how powerless she must have felt, how she never wants to feel that way again. He can understand how scared she must be with everything that’s happened, even if she doesn’t show it, and even though she doesn’t have any real reason to be scared, Keith can’t help but sympathize. 

So Keith teaches her hand-to-hand combat and self-defense, teaches her how to fight properly, and then he teaches her how to fight dirty. Hair-pulling, eye-poking, an elbow to the neck and a knee to the groin. She doesn’t pull her punches, hits him with everything she’s got, and Keith feels genuine pride the first time she manages to take him down. Unlike the others, this isn’t her own roundabout way of helping him so that she can feel less guilty about what happened. She’s learning to fight for her own reasons, but it’s also more than that. 

Romelle doesn’t look at him any differently, not like the others do. Despite their best attempts to hide their distress, he sees the looks everyone sends his way. He sees the unwanted pity and concern etched on their faces, expressions laced with grief as though his mere existence breaks their hearts. Keith hates it, hates every moment of it, hates how _weak_ it all makes him feel. Romelle just treats him exactly the same as she did before all of this happened. 

Other than Shiro, she’s probably the only one that even comes close to understanding what he’s going through. Lotor was supposed to be her savior, her messiah, the one in which she put her faith, but he betrayed her. He betrayed all the Alteans he supposedly saved. He literally drained the life from her family and friends, committed mass murder for the sake of power. Keith remembers the horror on her face when they discovered the other colony, remembers the way she silently cried on the shuttle ride back to the Castle. He remembers the pain she tried so desperately to hide, the grief that she couldn’t help but succumb to.

Romelle is a fighter though, that much is clear to Keith. He wonders if, without realizing it, she’s trying to convince him to keep fighting too.

Allura is the only one that outright attempts to talk to him about it. Every time she tries, Keith callously rebuffs her because what is he supposed to tell her? How could she possibly have any idea of what he’s going through? Keith doesn’t need to talk about it, doesn’t want to talk about it, but Allura just doesn’t seem to understand that a heart-to-heart isn’t going to fix this. Opening up about it isn’t going to change what happened. 

Keith knows that Allura is only reacting the way she is because of Lotor, because of how raw his betrayal still is for her. She’s too much like Keith, too focused on everyone else’s problems and not paying enough attention to her own. She’s hurting intimately and she can’t help but see that hurt reflected in Keith. What happened between Keith and Shiro has become a distraction for her, an excuse to not face her own issues. Controlling Keith’s healing process is a more preferable alternative to facing her own. 

Keith doesn’t tell her that he sees her as she truly is, just a few bad days away from breaking down. He doesn’t tell her that he sees the way she can’t hide her grief when she thinks no one is looking. That doesn’t make it fair for her to keep pushing Keith, though. She needs to address her own trauma before she tries to take on that of others.

What’s even worse is that she’s decided to take the matter into her own hands. She plans their missions accordingly now: they only use the full force of Voltron when absolutely necessary, otherwise they go off on assignments separately and in teams. Well, everyone gets sent out in teams except for Shiro, who is always sent out on his own. More than that, Shiro always seems to be away on a mission whenever Keith gets a break at the Castle, and Keith is almost always sent out on a team mission whenever Shiro comes back. 

It’s not fair for Allura to punish him like this but Shiro doesn’t say anything against it. He just gets this resigned look about him as though he expected this, as though he deserves it. He’s had a few close calls that Keith knows of, situations that he’d never have ended up in if he’d had backup, but that doesn’t change anything. Allura keeps sending him out on his own, risking his life and the Black Lion all because she thinks she knows what’s best for them. 

Keith wants to remind her that she’s not a Paladin anymore and she sure as _hell_ isn’t the leader of Voltron, but Shiro hasn’t stepped up to that role since all of this happened. Whether that’s by choice or an unconscious decision, he’s not entirely sure. But regardless of why, Shiro still owes it to the team, owes it to _Keith_ to get his shit together and pull everyone back into their places.

But he doesn’t and he won’t. He just goes where he’s sent and does as he’s told and refuses to be the leader they so desperately need him to be. 

Sometimes Keith wonders if Shiro even cares if anything happens to him, if he even gives a shit about his own life anymore. He doesn’t seem to, not with the way he willingly goes on suicide missions, the way he doesn’t use the healing pods after taking a beating, the way the bags under his eyes betray how little sleep he allows himself. Keith knows Shiro is punishing himself, but he’s also punishing the team, even if he doesn’t mean to.

All Keith wants is for everything to go back to the way it was, before any of this, before all of this. He wants his friends back, wants them to be a family again but knows that can never be. This damage can never be undone, no matter how hard they try.

He knows that everyone blames themselves. If they hadn’t let Keith go through that wormhole alone, if they had stuck together, then maybe this never would have happened. They feel as though they should have been there for him, that they shouldn’t have let him go after Shiro on his own, but they did and now Keith has to pay the consequences for their actions. At least, that’s how they see it. As much as they blame Shiro, they blame themselves, but their assuaging efforts are much too little and _much_ too late as well as they’re misplaced. Their attempts at atonement are not about Keith, not really. It’s all about them and their guilt and what they need to feel whole again. 

All he can do is shut down and act like nothing is wrong, like everything is _okay._ If not for his sake then for theirs. It helps them if they believe they’re making a difference. He knows that all they want to do is help but there’s nothing they can actually do, so he lets Lance be angry him up, lets Hunk feed him, lets Pidge use him as her test dummy, lets Coran corral him into helping out with chores, lets Romelle kick his ass on the training deck, lets Allura spy on him with the mice, and pretends that their efforts actually mean something. They do mean something, he supposes, but they don’t help. Not like he needs, anyway.

He can’t figure out a way to explain to them that it wasn’t Shiro’s fault, that he doesn’t blame Shiro, because they won’t understand and they probably never truly will. There’s this sense of distrust and fear, a question of whether any of them are safe anymore, and it hurts Keith to know that they’re treating Shiro like it was actually _him_ that caused any of this. 

It wasn’t though, Keith knows that, and everyone else knows it too, but they still hold him responsible and that’s the saddest thing about it all. It wasn’t Shiro and it wasn’t Shiro’s fault, but he’ll take the burden of the blame because that’s what he does, that’s who he is. He’s a self-sacrificing bastard and he’s letting everyone blame him, he’s blaming _himself,_ because it’s what they all need and it breaks Keith’s heart.

It’s all quickly growing to be too much. He feels as though he’s been accelerating full speed ever since the rest of the team found out. His mind never seems to quiet and his heart is stuck in a constant state of turmoil. All he wants is a break, a moment of peace, but that’s far too much to ask for when they’re in the middle of a war. He feels worn out, stretched thin, as though he’s given so much of himself that there’s nothing left to give, as though so much has been taken from him that he has nothing left to hold onto. No part of him remains that has not been devastated.

The worst part is that he feels like somehow, in some way, he asked for it. He loves Shiro, was in love with him (and maybe he still is but it’s hard to figure anything out when it comes to Shiro these days). He knows he wanted it, knows he wanted _Shiro_ like that. He wanted to have sex with him, wanted Shiro to be his first and his last, wanted Shiro to take him apart with his tongue and his fingers and his cock, good fucking god did Keith once want that. The clone knew that, Haggar knew that, and they used that against him. He got _everything_ and absolutely _nothing_ he wanted at the same time. He was ruined, now and forever. He would never be able to have _anything_ ever again without it being tainted, not with anyone else and certainly not with Shiro. 

He can’t help but blame himself. If he had never fallen in love with Shiro then this might not have happened, he might never have been hurt so intimately. Maybe Shiro would have just tried to kill him. That would have been easier, so much easier, because they could have come back from that. Keith would have found a way to save him and Shiro would have felt bad about it for a while but they would forgive each other, be able to eventually get past it. This, though, they will never get past. Trying to kill each other is temporary damage at worst. What they went through is an utter annihilation of everything they were, everything they could have been.

Keith is tired, so tired.

☍

For the first time in weeks, everyone is in the Castle. They’ve been running continuous missions for days on end and now they all finally have the chance to get a decent night’s sleep. They’ll spend tomorrow running maintenance on the Lions and the Castle. The day after they’ll be taking off again to spread peace and stability throughout the universe but, for now, they can all have a few precious moments to themselves.

Keith, as per usual, finds himself unable to sleep. He lies in his bed with his eyes open for hours. Even though he just got back from a mission that should have left him feeling like he could sleep for a week, even though he was so exhausted he felt ready to pass out on the ride back to the Castle, he’s wide awake now. It’s late enough that the others will all be asleep, so he pulls himself up and out of bed with a sigh, making his way to the training deck where he fully intends to run through a few hours of fighting simulations until he’s so tired that he can’t see straight.

It turns out he’s not the only one with that idea.

Shiro is already on the training deck, has been there for a while if his heaving chest and the sweat dripping off his skin is any indication. He’s shirtless, not using his bayard but fighting with his arm and a bare fist that’s already bruised and bleeding, likely broken in a few places. There are flecks of bright red blood splattered across the steel floor and smeared across the surface of the gladiator bot. When Shiro finishes the round he raises his shaking blue-black hand to run his fingers through his hair, streaking crimson through ivory as he pushes it back from where it’s fallen into his face. Then he begins the next level. 

Shiro’s hair is white, there’s a scar across the bridge of his nose, and he has a _metal fucking arm._ The weight of too many worlds rests on his shoulders, ages him beyond his years, and he carries a great sorrow unlike any other Keith has seen. He’s an entirely different person now, and so is Keith. It’s all totally and utterly different from that night which seems an eternity ago, but the memory still hits Keith like a brick. Suddenly he feels like he’s back at the Garrison, sneaking around just to spend time with Shiro before he leaves for Kerberos, before they became Paladins of Voltron, before any of this. 

It breaks something in Keith.

Before he fully realizes what he’s doing, he’s rushing forward, throwing himself at Shiro. He screams as he begins to attack, punching and kicking as hard as he can, his fists and feet meeting flesh with raw thuds that echo in the room around them. He’s snarling and spitting in his rage, screaming and yelling all manner of insults and accusations, completely out of control as he assaults Shiro with everything he has. He doesn’t fight clean either. He wraps a hand in Shiro’s hair and pulls so hard he rips strands out, scratches at Shiro until skin breaks under his fingernails, bites his arms and his shoulders and his neck until he bleeds. 

He _hurts_ Shiro as hard as he can and Shiro just lets him. 

His arms that at first had been raised in self-defense now hang loosely at his sides. He doesn’t move away, doesn’t try to block Keith’s attacks, doesn’t bother fighting back. He just stands there and takes every pound of pain Keith inflicts upon him, every punch and kick and scratch and bite. He takes it all, lets Keith beat him up, and lets Keith beat him down.

Keith is crying in anger and grief as he tries to push all of his agony onto Shiro. Every atom of his essence _hurts,_ all the stardust that makes up his soul. He wants Shiro to understand even just a fraction of the pain that he’s in. He wants Shiro to hurt just like him, wants Shiro to ache and bleed, wants Shiro to feel as helpless and hopeless as he did on that metal floor as his head throbbed and his soul died. He wants Shiro to feel what it’s like to be broken. He wants Shiro to feel what it’s like to be _ruined._

Keith screams and cries as he seeks retribution that will never truly come, as Shiro seeks for absolution that he’ll never truly get. Eventually Keith begins to lose his strength as the fight slowly leaves him, the brutality of his attacks dwindling until he’s just weakly slapping his hands against the skin of Shiro’s chest as he sobs. He feels like a child, a weak, pitiful, _desperate_ child.

“Keith—”

“Shut up,” Keith mumbles, doing his best to ignore how utterly _defeated_ Shiro sounds. “Just shut up.”

A desperation is clawing its way up Keith’s throat, utterly different than the anger that possessed him mere moments ago. He’s no longer longing for retribution, instead he’s _desperate_ for everything they’d ever had to return. It’s a yearning stronger than he’s ever known and his sobs turn into a stifled wail as he makes up his mind.

He slots every inch of his body against Shiro’s, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he buries his face in Shiro’s neck. He’s sobbing and begging and pleading, babbling nonsense that has no end. He can’t stop himself as he starts to grind against Shiro, rocking his hips against the defined musculature of Shiro’s body as his cock starts to harden in his pants. Shiro’s arms wrap around his waist and Keith feels bile flood his throat, fill his mouth. One of Shiro’s hands comes up to rub his lower back and his throat closes up. Shiro presses his lips to the side of Keith’s head and his blood starts to boil. Their hair is falling in their faces, Keith’s clothes stick to their skin, they’re both sweating and Keith is still crying but it’s _exactly_ what he needs, or at least that’s what he tells himself as he breaks Shiro’s skin under his fingernails.

He’s desperate in the way he’s pressing against Shiro now, his cock aching with how hard he is. He can’t help the frantic thrusts of his hips against Shiro’s body. But then Shiro is moving, slipping a thigh between Keith’s own and— oh god. His body screams _yes._

Keith is helpless to stop himself from humping Shiro’s leg in earnest, already feeling himself drawing close to a climax, and then Shiro starts rocking his thigh to meet Keith’s thrusts, working them into a messy rhythm that has Keith’s legs shaking. He tries to pull Shiro impossibly closer, fingers digging into his skin painfully as he buries his tears in Shiro’s neck. 

He just wants it to be over. 

When he comes in his pants, he’s silent but for a breathy gasp, then pitiful in his whimpers as he continues to rub himself against Shiro’s thigh. Shiro holds him through all of it, gently shushes him, whispers reassurances as he strokes Keith’s back and works him through his orgasm. 

Keith keeps grinding against Shiro even as he trembles and whimpers, until his legs go weak and his thrusts slow down so that he’s just barely rocking against Shiro, twitching as he tortures himself with the aftershocks. Shiro keeps holding him, keeps rubbing his hand up and down Keith’s back until he goes completely still, until he’s stopped crying entirely.

Keith can feel where Shiro is hard against his hip. Against every instinct screaming at him not to, he drops a shaking hand to cup at the hard line of Shiro’s cock through his pants.

“Keith—”

“Please,” Keith says, voice barely a whisper. “Just let me— _please.”_

Then he’s slipping his hand inside Shiro’s pants, grasping his cock and beginning to pump it even as his tongue tastes the puke lining the inside of his mouth, even as his chest goes numb and he can’t remember how to breathe.

“Keith, I—”

“Just _shut up,”_ Keith growls out.

He starts jerking Shiro off properly, or as properly as he can manage with the awkward angle and Shiro’s pants in the way. He has no idea what he’s doing, not really, so he just does what he knows he likes and hopes that Shiro likes it too. By the way his breath starts to stutter out in pants, it at least sounds like he’s enjoying it.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Shiro gasps out, voice breaking on the raw emotion.

Keith pulls his hand out of Shiro’s pants like he’s been burned, stumbling in his haste to get out of Shiro’s grip.

“How dare you,” he spits out, purely vitriolic, and backhands Shiro across the face. “How. _Dare._ You.”

Keith looks at Shiro with pure rage, mouth twisted into a sneer even as the tears roll down his cheeks. Shiro’s face is flushed and he’s still slightly panting while he looks back at Keith as though his heart is breaking. Neither of them say anything more. Neither of them know what else can be said.

Shiro reaches his hand out slowly as though he’s afraid of scaring Keith away, like Keith is a small, scared animal backed into a corner. He doesn’t touch Keith, just lets his fingers hover in the air above Keith’s cheek, as though all he wants to do is to wipe Keith’s tears away and promise him that nothing will ever hurt him again. Keith wishes he could let him, but Shiro has already made sure he’ll never be anything _except_ hurt.

Shiro opens his mouth to speak, but before he can say a word, Keith is turning around and walking out, mouth opening in a silent scream. He barely makes it out the door before it escapes, a wail of pure and utter grief that echoes down the empty hallways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge, HUGE thank you to hidefromeveryone ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidefromeveryone/pseuds/hidefromeveryone), [tumblr](https://hidefromeveryone.tumblr.com/)) for doing Beta for this! ! go read everything he’s written he is absolutely incredible! !


	9. Quod Me Nutrit Me Destruit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.” _  
― Chuck Palahniuk, _Diary_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah so this chapter is basically just sex
> 
> Disclaimer: as far as this fic is concerned, the conditioner is some alien kind that can be used as lubricant without causing irritation. IRL do not use conditioner as lube, it is a very bad idea.

It happens again. 

Keith doesn’t mean for it to. He thought it was a one time thing, a moment of weakness, but he can’t seem to keep himself away. He can’t seem to do what’s good for himself. 

After the… _incident_ in the training room, Keith finds that his urges have become completely centered on Shiro. It almost feels like it never really happened, like the whole thing is some elaborate fantasy he created that exists only in his mind. He’s rational about it, he knows it happened and he knows it’s affected him in ways he doesn’t even fully realize, far more than he’ll ever really admit, but at the same time it doesn’t feel real. He doesn’t look at Shiro and see the man that assaulted him, the man that hurt him so deeply, so intimately. Shiro is just… _Shiro._

Keith can’t help but think about him when he jerks off. He thinks about Shiro sucking and fucking him, thinks about Shiro’s fingers in his ass, thinks about Shiro’s _tongue_ and he can’t stop himself but he doesn’t really _want_ to, not anymore. He finds himself masturbating excessively and in new, strange ways, experimenting in a frantic attempt to finally find the satisfaction he’s so desperately chasing after. It doesn’t work, of course it doesn’t work, but he finds he’s not struggling so hard to come anymore. 

He presses his face and chest into his mattress as he pushes a pillow between his thighs, humping it until he comes and ruins his underwear. He ends up on his knees in the training room shower, tangling a hand in his hair and pulling just on the side of too hard as he rocks back on his fingers slick with conditioner. He uses the handle of his hairbrush to torture his prostate, coming on his stomach completely untouched. On one memorable occasion he jerked off in his Lion on the way back from a mission, barely able to stifle his gasps and moans but Hunk and Lance didn’t seem to notice. It still isn’t the satisfaction he needs it to be. He’s fairly certain he’s past the point of healthy but there’s this need that eats away at him and he has to at least _try_ to sate it. 

That’s where he finds himself now, with that same need thrumming under his skin after spending hours in the training room running through simulations. Everyone else in the castle is asleep, or at least Keith hopes they are. Shiro just got back from a mission and the only reason Keith knows this is because Allura said he and Hunk would be heading out next cycle, which really means she wants him out of the Castle and away from Shiro. The rest of the team still don’t trust him to make his own decisions and that makes him angry, pisses him off, makes him want to scream and cry and fight until someone finally listens to him but it won’t make a difference. 

He can’t talk to them, they wouldn’t even listen if he tried. In fact, opening up and sharing what happened would probably just make it worse, the sordid details only further lessening their opinion of Shiro. Even if they did listen, they’d probably just write off anything he says as PTSD or Stockholm Syndrome or some other bullshit diagnosis that none of them are qualified to make. It’s not their trauma, they shouldn’t get to decide how he deals with it, but the situation is out of Keith’s hands now, out of his control. He doesn’t have a choice anymore.

He lets out a shout of frustration and kicks the training bot so hard it flies across the room and crashes against the wall.

“End simulation,” he growls out, eyes shut with a sneer on his face, chest heaving and fists shaking with rage. 

His blood is pumping, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he wants— no, he _needs._

He fully intends to go jerk off in the shower but as he turns toward the door he sees Shiro standing outside, watching, waiting, and Keith knows, he _knows_ that this is a bad idea. But he also knows that he’s going to do it anyway.

He walks through the door and straight up to Shiro, shoulders back and head held high. His pace is steady and measured even as every step closer makes him want to run away more and more, and there’s not an ounce of hesitation in his voice when he speaks.

“I want you to fuck me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, doesn’t even bother to wait for Shiro’s reaction. He just turns around and starts walking toward the showers. He doesn’t need to look behind him to know that Shiro is following. 

Keith doesn’t know why he does it. That, or he doesn’t want to think too hard about it because he knows he won’t like the answer. It’s such a bad idea. He really shouldn’t do this, it’s wrong and it’s repulsive and he _knows_ that he’ll hate every moment of it but that’s not going to stop him. He wonders if this is how he punishes himself, if this is how he punishes Shiro, but it doesn’t feel like punishment. It feels… _inevitable._

Keith strips down in the locker room, dropping his clothes haphazardly on the ground. He doesn’t pay attention to Shiro, doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, as he removes the last of his clothing and walks into the shower without looking over his shoulder once. He turns on the water and steps underneath it even though it’s freezing. He forces himself to relax as the stream slowly warms up, forces himself to keep his breathing steady as he hears Shiro’s footsteps making their way toward him. 

He grabs the soap and starts to scrub himself down just for the sake of normalcy, his movements harsh and growing rough as Shiro’s footsteps stop right behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he finds himself wanting to shiver despite the warmth of the water, but he ignores the urge to escape, the way his legs start to shake as a sickness settles in his stomach. He takes deep breaths as his movements become automatic, spending nearly a minute washing the same spot on his elbow as he counts the tiles on the wall to the beat of his heart that’s pounding in his chest. 

Shiro doesn’t move. Keith counts up to fifty-seven before he lets out a resigned sigh and sets his jaw in determination. Against every one of his instincts screaming not to, he twists his head back to look at Shiro with an expectant eyebrow raised, hoping his fear and uncertainty don’t show on his face.

Shiro’s expression is carefully neutral, Keith notices, as though he doesn’t want to scare Keith. He’s trying too hard. Keith knows him too well, knows when he’s putting on a facade and Shiro should know better than to try anything around him. It’s clear he’s nervous and concerned, unsure and vaguely disturbed about whatever this is, but he’s followed Keith this far. He steps forward, moving closer slowly, carefully, and Keith turns back around and starts to count the tiles again.

He curses himself for the way he jumps when Shiro’s hands come to rest on his hips, so light they’re almost hovering. A pressure starts to build in his head and his heart is pounding so loud he worries it echoes in the shower stall. Keith ignores the urge to run, scream, _get away._ Instead he moves back, slotting every inch of his body against Shiro’s as the hands on his hips dig deeper, tighter in their grip. It’s so welcome that he wants to vomit. He’s been so touch-starved it’s making him shake and it’s so good it makes Keith’s chest numb. 

That’s what he tells himself, anyway.

Shiro’s nose presses against the backside of his ear, lips resting beside his neck, as the hands on Keith’s side spread out to move over his hips and stomach, coming to rest just above his cock. Keith can’t help the way he cants his hips forward, desperate for Shiro’s hands to drop just a little lower even as he wants to push them away. Instead they slide up until his fingers find Keith’s nipples, touching and teasing and twisting and _god,_ why does that feel so good? Keith swears he’s never been as sensitive as he is now. Shiro keeps playing with his nipples and he finds himself arching against Shiro’s hands, unconsciously pressing his hips back. It’s pure panic, blinding and terrifying, when he feels Shiro’s cock against his ass, and in a moment of perfect clarity he realizes that he doesn’t want this but absolutely _needs_ it.

Shiro drops his head to press his lips against Keith’s shoulder, gentle and sweet. Keith sputters out, “Don’t _kiss_ me.” 

He worries for a moment that he’s ruined this, that Shiro is going to stop or _leave_ and Keith thinks, _Good._ Keith thinks, _I hope not._ Instead Shiro rests his forehead on the back of Keith’s neck, lets his hands drop and move until they dance over the back of his hips. He lets his thumbs dig into the dimples of Keith’s back before moving lower, squeezing at the swell of his ass and Keith moans even as he wants to cry.

He pulls away from Keith almost entirely, leaving only his hands on Keith’s ass. His thumbs move in between Keith’s cheeks, just barely brushing over his hole before they’re spreading him open. He can feel the way he twitches against the cool air, clenching around nothing, then he can’t help the near sob that leaves him as Shiro’s tongue licks over him. 

For a moment he’s back in the cloning facility, on the cold metal floor with a broken wrist and pounding head as Shiro violates him with his tongue. He can taste the blood in his mouth, can feel as the shame and humiliation and utter grief overtake him, and he would collapse if it wasn’t for Shiro holding him up. The tongue moves away and Keith slowly returns to the present, the room around him fading back into focus as Keith claws at the tiles in front of, a phantom pain twinging his wrist as it knocks against the unyielding wall.

The water is too hot. Shiro’s hands burn him. Keith doesn’t want to do this.

He blindly reaches back and tangles a hand in Shiro’s hair, pulling him forward as he grinds his ass back into his face, desperate for some sense of control. It’s hard to breathe and he can’t feel his fingers but still he sighs at the feeling of wetness and warmth as he braces himself with one arm against the wall of the shower. He uses it as leverage to push back onto Shiro’s face, onto his tongue as Shiro eats him out with an intensity that hurts. 

It’s different than before, Keith notices, the way Shiro changes his strokes, his pace. The slow, long licks with the broad of his tongue, pressure so good it makes Keith’s legs shake. The short, quick licks that tease at his rim, fluttering against it and stealing the breath from his lungs. The tip of his tongue circling, pushing against his hole and just barely breaching him before pulling back out, making his chest go numb. Then finally the twisting, turning press of his tongue as it writhes its way inside, hot and wet and so _wrong_ that it brings tears to Keith’s eyes. Then Shiro’s putting his whole mouth on Keith’s hole and _sucking_ and Keith can’t help the way he whines, pulling Shiro closer than ever even as his throat closes up. 

Keith stops trying to hold back his moans, his whimpers and gasps as Shiro finally starts to properly fuck him with his tongue. It’s errs on the side of too slow, too intimate and Keith yanks on Shiro’s hair as he grinds back, pushing them toward a pace that’s punishing. Shiro does not disappoint. He gives and gives and _gives_ and lets Keith take as much as he wants. He’s practically riding Shiro’s face at this point. He knows he won’t come from this but he wants to take his time with this exquisite torture. He doesn’t stop until his legs are shaking too much to hold him up and tears are streaming down his cheeks, until his cock is so hard it hurts and Keith is sure Shiro’s jaw is aching.

He uses his grip in Shiro’s hair and pulls, yanking Shiro’s head back and away. He looks over his shoulder to see Shiro with spit-slick lips and flushed cheeks. The look in his eyes lies too close to reverence. It’s at that moment he understands that Shiro needs this just as much as he does.

He turns around, eyes rimmed red and cheeks blotchy, leaning back against the cool tile of the wall in an attempt to ground himself. He’s panting and his cock is aching and all he wants is for this to be over. He can see Shiro’s cock, thick and heavy between his legs, and Keith needs it inside him as much as the thought terrifies him. He tugs Shiro’s hair _hard_ and Shiro lets out a guttural moan. When he tugs again, Shiro stands up. 

He moves forward, crowding Keith against the wall. He has an expression somewhere between concerned and conflicted, but that doesn’t stop him from grabbing the conditioner and pouring it over his fingers until the milky liquid dripped past his fingertips. Shiro hooks his Galra arm under Keith’s left knee, pulling it up and baring him, and there’s an acrid feeling at the back of Keith’s throat as Shiro’s fingers press against his hole, prodding and probing. There’s not enough time before Shiro is slipping a finger in, not hesitating as he pushes it up to his knuckle and Keith has to force himself to relax, to not clench up. He wants it to stop, wants it all to just stop but then Shiro is moving his finger and Keith’s hips jerk in panic and pleasure.

Keith throws an arm around Shiro’s neck and lets his head fall back to rest again the wall, hips unconsciously trying to move away from Shiro but only succeeding in rocking back onto him. Tears are running freely down his face, breath coming out in hitched sobs. Shiro is using his human hand and Keith is grateful for that, he doesn’t think he could stand the feeling of metal inside him ever again, can barely even stand the feeling of it against his skin. His right leg is straining with him on the tips of his toes and he can’t feel his chest anymore but it’s exactly what he needs, so good it _hurts._

Keith brings his free hand up to cover his face, unable to look at Shiro and unwilling to let Shiro see him so vulnerable. That’s when Shiro slips in a second finger, slow with how he stretches Keith out, rubbing over his insides as though he’s— _oh,_ god <del>no</del> _yes._

Keith keens as Shiro rubs slow circles over his prostate, powerless to hold back the embarrassing noises that slip out as Shiro’s fingers torture him. It’s too soon that Shiro is slipping in a third, the stretch just this side of too much, and Keith loves it as much as it makes him ill. He craves the feeling of his body being pushed to its breaking point, being forced _past_ it.

He’s stopped holding back entirely, letting out moans that sound more like sobs and that are loud enough to be heard from the hall outside. He doesn’t care if anyone does though, because for the first time since this all began he feels like he’s finally getting somewhere, even if that place is getting fucked by the same man who raped him.

It’s wrong. Keith knows it’s wrong. It _feels_ wrong. He’s uncomfortable and there’s a funny taste in his mouth, his throat feels like it’s closing up and his heart is beating so hard he worries it might give out. It’s confusing, more than anything else, because he’s uncomfortable with Shiro touching him, with Shiro _touching_ him, and he can’t believe that he would let Shiro lay his hands on him at all, but it’s also good. Maybe “good” isn’t the right word, though. Pleasurable. Fulfilling, maybe. It satisfies him like nothing else does. Shiro is _good,_ he makes Keith feel good, even though “good” isn’t the right word, and despite the sick feeling that twists in Keith’s stomach every time he so much as feels Shiro’s skin brush against his, it’s _good._

Shiro pulls his fingers out of Keith and he forgets how to breathe. Shiro hooks his elbow under Keith’s other knee, hoisting him up and pressing him against the cold tile of the bathroom wall. Keith is frozen in fear, eyes wide as his entire body shakes, then the head of Shiro’s cock is pushing against his hole and Keith doesn’t want this anymore. He lets out a howl as the head of Shiro’s cock pushes inside him. 

Shiro freezes instantly, thrown off by Keith’s sudden wail, but him staying still is somehow so much worse so Keith rolls his hips as much as he can in his current position, trying to incentivize Shiro to keep going. He buries his cries in Shiro’s neck as Shiro pushes all the way in, the fullness almost overwhelming. He pauses there for a moment before pulling back out, beginning to properly fuck Keith.

His thrusts are slow, languid rolls of his hips that press against all the right places in all the right ways. He’s gentle, not wanting to push too hard, keeping his pace easy and his movements smooth and tender, and it makes Keith sick. He doesn’t want this, he can’t stand this. He needs it to _hurt._

“I said, _fuck me,”_ he snarls through his tears, grabbing Shiro’s hair with his hand and yanking, angry and vicious and everything he needs Shiro to be right now.

Shiro doesn’t disappoint. On his next thrust, he drives into Keith so hard that he can feel it in his throat. This is _exactly_ what he needs.

Shiro pins him up against the tile, fucking him fast and desperate as Keith shakes with the force of every thrust. His shoulder blades feel bruised, his legs are cramping up from how high they’re pushed up, and he feels like Shiro’s cock might actually split him open. Keith is sobbing now but he still manages to give back as good as he gets. He scratches at Shiro’s skin just a little too hard, tangles his hand in Shiro’s hair and pulls just short of too painful, nearly breaks the skin of Shiro’s shoulder between his teeth. 

Shiro buries his face in Keith’s neck, mouth open and tongue hot against his skin and it’s wrong, bad, _too much_ but Keith ignores it. There’s a familiar ache in between his pelvic bones, a deep heat that jolts through him with every one of Shiro’s thrusts. He’s hypersensitive to everything, feeling the way his hole twitches and spasms around Shiro’s cock, feels every one of Shiro’s breaths against his skin, and he swears he can feel Shiro’s cock twitch inside him. Then Shiro is dropping down further, mouth open and panting right over the scar on Keith’s collarbone and it’s too much. Keith comes completely undone.

He digs his nails so deep into Shiro’s back that he breaks skin. He weakly beats at Shiro’s shoulder with one hand even as he tangles the other in his hair to pull him closer, as desperate to push Shiro away as he is to keep them together. He can’t help the way he contorts in Shiro’s grip, tries to press his thighs together even as they’re held apart. He just wants it to stop but Shiro keeps going, keeps fucking Keith at a pace that’s punishing, making Keith writhe from how overstimulated he is. Keith needs it as much as he hates every moment. 

He can’t help the wail he lets out when Shiro comes inside him, pressing a growl into his skin as Shiro’s cock throbs and pulses inside Keith, as warmth and wetness fills him. It feels _wrong._

Shiro grinds into him as he comes down with little thrusts that Keith feels in his throat. He’s sobbing against Shiro’s shoulder now, weakly clawing at his skin as his entire body shakes. Shiro sets him back down slowly, watches him as he slides down the wall to sit on the floor of the shower. He hugs his legs to his chest as tears stream down his face. He gasps in breaths that don’t reach his lungs, realizes that the feeling has returned to his chest just in time for the lack of oxygen to burn.

Shiro remains standing as he looks down at Keith with a strange expression on his face. His eyebrows are drawn together in concern but his mouth is twisted into a grimace, and it lies somewhere between regret and grief that Keith can’t quite pinpoint.

“We shouldn’t—” Shiro starts, but Keith cuts him off.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, and Keith forces himself to place certainty in his voice and a challenge in his gaze. “You of all people don’t get to tell me how to deal with _this.”_

The expression that flashes across Shiro’s face is one of utter shock and pure horror. It’s only lasts for a moment as he quickly schools his expression into one of careful neutrality, but the lines around his eyes are too prominent and his mouth is drawn down just enough for Keith to see right through his newest facade. He doesn’t say anything more, just shakes his head in a slight unconscious movement before letting it drop in defeat. He hovers for a moment, unsure what to do, but then he turns around and walks out of the showers, leaving Keith alone to continue sobbing softly until the last of Shiro’s cum leaks out of his hole and is washed down the drain.

It’s the first truly satisfying orgasm Keith has had since _it_ happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much to hidefromeveryone ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidefromeveryone/pseuds/hidefromeveryone), [tumblr](https://hidefromeveryone.tumblr.com/)) for doing Beta for this! ! 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated!


	10. Oremus Pro Invicem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But hurry, let's entwine ourselves as one, our mouth broken, our soul bitten by love, so time discovers us safely destroyed.” _  
― Federico Garcia Lorca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> porn with plot? sorry I only know porn with angst
> 
> I’m so, so sorry about the brief hiatus, real life and lego star wars are to blame. This chapter is REALLY long though, I considered splitting it up into a few chapters but y’all deserve a nice long chapter, as a treat lol please forgive my brief lack of updates. Also please heed the newly added tags.

Between running missions and all the various activities that everyone ropes him into, Keith rarely finds himself with a free moment. Even when he does, he can never seem to get a moment alone.

He’ll be running through fight sequences on the training deck and Lance will show up to practice his marksmanship. He’ll head to the kitchen to grab a quick meal and Hunk will decide it’s the perfect time to test out one of his new recipes. He’ll be hiding in the hangar bay but Pidge will arrive, checking on the Lions and working on tech modifications. When the other Paladins are all away on missions or otherwise occupied, Coran will hunt him down and blabber on about stories from his youth. Even when Keith is alone in his room he can hear the mice in the vents, spying on him for Allura.

The team seems to have made it their top priority to never let him be by himself. It doesn’t matter where he is or what he’s doing, someone is always with him, always watching him, and at this point he wouldn’t put it past Allura to have assigned everyone shifts to _babysit_ him.

The only time Keith can ever be truly alone is when he literally runs away. He sneaks out of whatever room he’s in and books it, sprinting to the farthest corner of the Castle he can reach before anyone realizes he’s gone. It’s never long before someone finds him or he has to return lest he become the subject of a manhunt, but for a few moments he allows himself to revel in peace and quiet at last. 

They’re treating him like a child and it’s _humiliating._ They no longer trust Keith to make his own decisions, don’t even trust him to take care of himself, and it’s not fair.

It’s not their fault, not really. They’re just trying to deal with this in their own right, trying to feel a little less useless, but that’s not what Keith needs right now. He doesn’t need constant companionship or protection, doesn’t need them to make decisions for him. All he really needs is for them to be his friends but that seems to be the one thing they can’t do. 

What’s worse is how they’re treating Shiro. 

They’re shunning him. Any time he walks into a room, everyone falls totally silent and refuses to even acknowledge his presence. That, or they’ll glare at him until he leaves. They’ve stopped inviting him to group meetings altogether, leaving Allura or Coran to debrief him after. He’s started spending most of his time either on the training deck, late at night when no one is there, or in his room, where he’s begun to take his meals in order to avoid the stony silence that greets him in the dining room. 

The team has effectively banished Shiro and he’s just _let them._ He can no longer exist in the same spaces as them, can no longer consider them his acquaintances let alone his friends. To them, he is worth less than nothing. Nobody seems to have any regard for even his life anymore, with his missions growing more and more dangerous, his likeliness to return dwindling with each assignment. The only person that actually cares for him anymore is Keith, though “care” may not be the right word.

Keith knows that, on some level, the team has to know that it’s not actually Shiro’s fault, know that it wasn’t really Shiro that did that, know that Shiro would _never._ But the fact of the matter is that none of them feel safe anymore and that makes them dangerous. They’ll react emotionally, impulsively and without thought, their misguided attempts to feel less helpless only serving to cause further harm. 

They shouldn’t even be involved in this in the first place, but it’s spiralled out of control. It’s about so much more than just Keith and Shiro now. It’s about the rest of the team too, the trust they have in one another, and they can no longer bring themselves to trust Shiro.

Keith, at the very least, still trusts Shiro as a leader even if the others don’t. Keith also keeps having sex with him but that’s not about trust. It’s about power, punishment, and retribution, but most of all it’s about control.

Shiro never seeks him out, always lets Keith come to him, and only ever does exactly what Keith tells him to do. He lets himself be completely at Keith’s mercy, lets Keith do whatever he pleases, and just takes it. No complaints, no pleas, just total submission to Keith’s every whim.

It’s obvious that whatever this is, Shiro doesn’t enjoy it. He’s clearly uncomfortable and Keith relishes in his misery. It’s Shiro’s turn to feel powerless and violated, to know what Keith felt like on the floor of the cloning facility. Keith knows that it wasn’t Shiro that hurt him, knows that he doesn’t want to hurt Shiro, not really, but he can’t help but punish him for what he didn’t do. 

As much as Keith punishes Shiro, he punishes himself. He’s desperate for some semblance of control. He tells himself he’s _choosing_ to sleep with Shiro, choosing to hurt himself, because the only thing he has control over is the pain. He knows it’s not the right decision but it’s still his choice, at the very least. Keith knows he’s ruining everything they were and are, destroying anything they could be, but somehow it’s okay as long as he’s the one doing so. 

They rarely, if ever, find the opportunity to come together with their schedules so carefully tailored to keep them apart. It’s not often that they find themselves in the Castle at the same time, let alone able to sneak away from the others, but they still manage to meet on a few memorable occasions.

The first time is a complete accident. 

Keith has been vibrating out of his skin all day with a nervous energy that he has no way to work off. Lance is on the training deck and Keith just really doesn’t feel like dealing with his passive aggressive bullshit, Red is recharging so he can’t take her out to practice flight maneuvers, and if he stays in his room any longer he’s going to go insane.

He ends up going for a run through the hallways, starting at a slow jog before working his way up to a punishing sprint. He’s able to work off his energy while avoiding the others and the repetitive nature of running is calming, even helps him clear his head a bit. It’s good, better than good actually. It’s almost great, until he turns a corner and collides with somebody.

They both end up on the floor, confused and a bit dazed. Keith rolls to the side, pushes himself up as he ignores the pain from where his elbow collided with metal. He groans as he gets to his feet, opening his mouth to growl out an apology, but when his eyes come up to find Shiro he freezes. Shiro is frozen in place as well, staring at Keith in shock and with a hint of fear. 

They haven’t spoken, haven’t even _seen_ each other since the incident in the shower. Keith had been avoiding Shiro and Shiro had been avoiding him and it had all been working out for once, but now they’re forced to face one another and neither of them have any idea what to say or do. They just stand and stare at one another in confusion, utter confliction, until they hear voices at the other end of the hallway. 

Before Keith realizes what he’s doing, he’s grabbing Shiro by the front of his shirt and pulling him off to the side, pushing him behind a pillar. Keith doesn’t even want to think about the shitshow that would go down if anyone on the team found him and Shiro alone together. 

The pillar is small, barely wide enough to keep both of them hidden. Keith has to press himself against Shiro even as it makes him sick just to avoid detection. Shiro is looking at Keith, vaguely disturbed by all this, and he opens his mouth to speak but they both go deathly still as the voices become clear. 

“He just doesn’t seem to understand what’s good for him.”

Keith bristles with anger at Allura’s words, his mouth twisting into a sneer as he grips Shiro’s shirt so tight he nearly tears the fabric. It’s not her responsibility to fix everything and everyone, not every situation requires her involvement. Why can’t she, for _once_ in her life, mind her own fucking business?

Furthermore, who is _she_ to decide what’s good for him? She’s younger than him, still a teenager, and on top of that she’s a literal _princess._ She grew up with a loving family, everything she could ever want handed to her on a silver platter. That’s not to say that she hasn’t been through her own fair share of suffering because she has, but she sure as hell hasn’t gone through anything even _close_ to what Keith has gone through.

“I fear the worst is yet to come,” Allura continues. “He won’t let any of us give him the help he needs.”

And oh, the utter _irony_ of that. He knows exactly what he needs, better than anyone, and he’s even _told_ her that, but his words just fell on deaf ears. She tells him she’s there to listen, to be a shoulder to cry on, but she never actually pays attention to what he says. He tells her he doesn’t want to talk about it, tells her to just leave it alone, and that all he really needs is some time. But that doesn’t align with what _she_ thinks he needs so she ignores him, writes off whatever he says as trauma and bores him near to death with yet another lecture that comes from the completely wrong place.

The truth is she’s not actually trying to help him, she’s just trying to alleviate her own guilt.

“Doesn’t he understand that he’s just hurting himself? Hurting _us?_”

Keith’s entire body shakes with the force of his silent fury. He knew the others talked about him behind his back but to actually hear it is a whole other thing. He’s angry, absolutely _furious,_ on the verge of flying into an unbridled rage and _hurting_ someone. It feels as though he’s not allowed to make his own decisions anymore, like he doesn’t have a choice in anything. All he wants is to be able to control _something._

The moment the idea pops into his head, Keith knows it’s a terrible one. He also knows he’s going to do it anyway. 

The first rock of his hips against Shiro’s is tentative, unsure and slow as the sickness starts to swell in his stomach. Shiro tenses up for a moment, not entirely sure what Keith is doing, but when he presses against Shiro again, complete and utter disbelief overtakes the man’s features. His eyes are comically wide, darting to look to the side and then back at Keith quickly, silently asking Keith what the _fuck_ he thinks he’s doing. Keith just glares back as he continues to grind his hardening cock against Shiro’s hip.

Shiro clenches his jaw tightly, looks at Keith with something akin to anger before he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. He lets his head fall back to rest against the pillar, resigning himself to being Keith’s masturbation aid. 

“I think perhaps it’s time we accept there’s nothing we can do,” Coran says. “Not until he lets us.”

“I can’t do that.”

Shiro’s cock has started to harden against Keith’s hip. The press of it against him makes him shake, for a moment forgetting how to breathe. Then he pushes through it, forces himself to angle his own hip to press against Shiro’s cock more firmly, revelling in the hard exhale Shiro lets out through his nose. 

“Princess, it’s not your fault—”

“I can’t help but feel as though it is, though. It’s all of our faults. We let him go after Shiro on his own.”

“None of us could have guessed what would happen,” Coran says, sounding so much more weary than Keith can ever remember hearing him.

Keith realizes he’s crying, that he’s been crying since this started, but it doesn’t matter. He buries his tears in the skin of Shiro’s neck as he continues to rub off on him, desperate for some sense of control. 

“Still, we should have been there for him when he needed us most and we weren’t.”

“You’re trying to be here for him now,” Coran says. “That counts for something.”

“But he won’t let us,” Allura responds, exasperated.

Keith wants to scream. He’s humping Shiro with purpose now, trying to work off the frustration as quickly as it builds up. All he wants is to be left alone, for the rest of the team to just _trust him,_ is that really too much to ask for? These people are supposed to be his friends, his _family,_ but all they’re doing is hurting him as they try to help themselves. This isn’t about being there for Keith, it’s about the guilt that they can’t bring themselves to live with. 

Keith starts crying harder as he begins to draw close. He just wants it to be over, tries to maneuver them around so that Shiro’s leg ends up between his own, but Shiro refuses to move, refuses to help Keith. Keith is choking down sobs as all he can do is frantically hump Shiro’s hip to completion.

“That’s by no fault of your own, Princess. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“We have to at least try,” Allura says with a desperate determination, and Keith comes in his pants. 

He holds his breath the entire time, pressing his face into Shiro’s neck as he shudders through a silent orgasm, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. He all but collapses against Shiro, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continues to rock himself through the aftershocks. 

He freezes suddenly when the footsteps that had slowly been growing closer suddenly stop. Coran and Allura have come to a halt in the intersection right outside of their hiding spot. Keith and Shiro press themselves as hard as they can against one another and back into the corner, trying to make themselves as small as possible. They barely manage to remain hidden behind the pillar, both of them barely daring to breath, utterly terrified at the thought of being discovered. 

“There’s also the matter of Shiro,” Allura says.

Keith can feel Shiro’s entire body tense up, can feel as his heart starst to pound a bit harder in his chest at the words. Shiro is anxious and uncomfortable. The last thing he wants is to hear this conversation and Keith can’t help but take advantage of his prey’s peril.

He slides his hand into Shiro’s pants and Shiro’s head snaps back down, nearly smashing their faces together in the process. He’s staring at Keith with wild eyes, absolutely terrified, and Keith can’t help the feral grin that spreads across his face even as the tears begin to stream from his eyes in earnest. Shiro doesn’t push him away, can’t without risking discovery.

“I think we need to make a decision,” Allura says, foreboding and ominous. 

Shiro lets his head fall back to rest against the pillar once more. He’s closed his eyes again and is biting his lip, holding back the noises that threaten to spill forth. It’s awkward, Keith can’t seem to get a good grip and they’re at the wrong angle, pressed together too tightly for Keith to properly jerk him off, but he does the best that he can and it seems to work. Shiro’s hips are bucking up into the movements of Keith’s hand, their aborted little thrusts sending tendrils of panic shooting up Keith’s throat. The weight of Shiro’s cock in his hand feels _wrong_ and he starts crying harder, prays to god that it’s over before he starts to sob.

“Oh, I don’t know, Princess. Shouldn’t we—”

“We need to do what’s best for Keith,” Allura says, cutting Coran off. “For _all_ of us. Whether we like it or not.”

Shiro shakes his way through a silent orgasm as Allura walks right past them without a glance, her head down deep in thought. They stay pressed together in the corner for a while longer until they’re certain they’re alone, then Keith is pushing himself away from Shiro, stumbling back to his room so he can break down in peace and change his pants.

☍

Lance is still being a bit of a bitch.

He and Keith are on a mission together. They left the Castle hours ago and in all that time, Lance hasn’t spoken a single word to him. It’s been like this for awhile now, Lance either not paying any attention to Keith or refusing to even acknowledge him. Whenever Lance so much as looks at Keith his expression is one of disgust, his mouth twisting in a slight sneer as he glares at Keith. 

Keith knows he’s just acting this way because he feels betrayed. In his mind, he and Keith were closer than this, Keith would have confided in him, and that leaves Lance feeling like he wasn’t as important to Keith as Keith is to him. He feels like he lost a friend, as though Keith straight up told him: “You’re not good enough.”

Lance doesn’t understand, probably never really will. He’s grown a lot and matured significantly throughout the course of their friendship, but he’s still naive in many ways. He’s unable to consider things from someone else’s perspective, still too focused on himself. He doesn’t consider how Keith has matured and changed. He doesn’t think about all the things Keith has been through, both on Earth and in space. He doesn’t think about the fact that what was only a few months to him was over two years to Keith, two years that he spent on a mystical space whale in the Quantum Abyss and away from his friends.

Lance is still Keith’s friend and Keith still trusts him with his life, but things have changed for both of them. _They’ve_ changed. 

Lance isn’t always terrible, though. There are moments, few and far between, when his anger doesn’t define his interactions with Keith, moments when his feelings of betrayal don’t consume the contact they have, but even on the good days it’s still strained between them. They’re polite at the very least, but their words remain short and clipped. It’s all business now, their consummate professionalism being all that pushes them through their missions together. No more teasing insults are exchanged, no playful jibes or friendly fights about things that don’t really matter. 

On the few occasions that Lance finds it in himself to tease Keith, it’s a blatant and obvious opening for Keith to prove him wrong.

“Bet you can’t fly through that asteroid field,” he’ll say as Keith moves through it with ease.

“There’s a needle you can’t thread,” he’ll challenge as Keith does it with his eyes closed. 

Lance is not the best pilot in the universe, but he has the heart of one. He understands the mindset that comes with executing a difficult maneuver, the focus that it requires, and the stillness of mind that arises. Keith knows that even though he’s pissed, Lance is doing what he can to distract Keith, to give him a break from his grief that he’ll never seek out for himself. It doesn’t really work, not like Keith needs it to, but the gesture is one of such unexpected kindness that Keith does what he can to at least pretend like it helps. He makes sure he isn’t outright frowning at Lance, tries to relax the tense line of his shoulders a bit and force the strain out of his voice.

(Keith will never admit it to anybody, would _die_ before he confessed so, but there are times when he misses Lance’s sarcasm and teasing, the endless stream of playful insults directed his way.)

Their mission took longer than expected, to say the least. 

It started out as a simple diplomatic assignment, one of their easiest missions yet. All they really had to do was show up. They took some pictures, shook a couple hands, kissed a few babies, and in general just inspired the newest members of the Voltron Coalition with their mere presence. They spent a week being spoiled with the royal treatment, feasts every night and quarters even nicer than those of the Castle’s, and it was exactly what both of them needed. 

Lance even _smiled_ at Keith once. He stopped the moment he realized he was doing so, mouth twisting down into a frown, but Keith still considers it a win.

They started their return trip to the Castle relaxed and laid-back, in a state of bliss that they hadn’t had since before Lotor, but they didn’t make it back. Only a couple of hours into their trip, Allura made contact to reroute them to the next quadrant over, sending them to Galtos Prime.

The planet had been freed from Galra control a little over a year ago. A band of Freedom Fighters assisted by the Blade of Marmora had managed to finally drive the Galra out after weeks of hard fought battles, but with their forces spread so thin throughout the universe, they couldn’t afford to stay any longer once the planet officially declared its independence. They left some supplies and weapons behind before they were on their way, leaving the liberation of the moons to the planet’s fighters. 

Two of the moons were freed relatively quickly, the people of the colonies rising up and revolting against their Galra overlords and driving them out with fire and fury. The third moon proved to be more difficult.

Zulenudros was the largest of the moons and a coveted asset due to its immense quantity of heavy metals and rare resources. Its colony was the most populated as well, over thirty thousand men and women, families and children. Despite the relative ease with which the Galra had been driven out elsewhere, they were not as quick to give up this moon. 

The inhabitants of the moon proved to be a problem as well. While a multitude rebelled against the Galra, just as many, if not more, _joined_ them. A brutal civil war had broken out and turned the colony into a warzone, and innocent civilians were getting caught in the crossfire. 

Commander Ladnok’s forces remained in orbit around the moon, effectively preventing the Galtosians from reaching the colony or sending any sort of support to the rebel forces, leaving them to fend entirely for themselves. Ladnok, on the other hand, kept a steady stream of sentries and drones in order to aid those fighting on her side as her ion cannon decimated entire sectors and dangerously depleted the rebellion’s numbers.

Galtos Prime had spent months trying to fight their way through Ladnok’s forces to no avail. They couldn’t defeat the Galra and regain control of the colony on their own, so they reached out to Voltron in utter desperation. 

The plan was to sneak onto Zulenudros and set up a secret meeting with the leaders of the Pro-Galra forces. Their hope was to try to peacefully resolve this and convince the rebels to join the Voltron Coalition. That backfired spectacularly. 

It was easy enough to get onto the moon. They took a personal transport craft, so small that it wouldn’t register on Ladnok’s sensors, and landed on the far side of the moon in a dense forest without issue. The Anti-Galra forces had managed to get word to their adversaries, who had agreed to meet in an uninhabited area of the colony, a sector that had been decimated by an ion cannon blast and was now considered a neutral zone, so Keith and Lance made their way toward the settlement. 

They walked straight into an ambush. The moment they arrived on location they were in the middle of a firefight, a troop of Pro-Galra forces and a squadron of sentries shooting at them from all sides. They barely managed to make it to cover, taking refuge in a half-collapsed building, but the forces were advancing on them quickly. Lance activated his bayard and started to shoot back. 

“You think _everything’s_ a trap!” Lance yelled at Keith from where he was kneeling beside the remnants of a window, peaking out for a moment to return fire before shifting back towards cover and glaring at him. “How did you not see this coming?”

Of course it was Keith’s fault. What isn’t nowadays?

Keith didn’t answer, just set his jaw and tightened his grip on his bayard as he jumped out of the window. He sprinted forward, taking out ten sentries in quick succession before a blaster bolt to the thigh brought him down. He dragged himself behind cover as the ground around him was pulverised by heavy fire, the pain from his wound so intense that black spots swam in his vision. The wound had been cauterized immediately, the one bit of decent luck that Keith seemed to have had in this whole ordeal, and he was quick to strip away the ruined armor from his thigh as he desperately tried to ignore the pain that seared through his skin with even the slightest movement.

Lance rolled his eyes as he laid down covering fire, muttering under his breath about Keith’s stupidity as he limped his way back to him, ducking under cover and dodging blaster bolts all the way. Lance continued to shoot as they started to move out and away as Keith covered them with his shield, and they slowly began to make their way towards open ground. They were still taking heavy fire as they turned and sprinted away, weaving and twisting through the rubble and ruins in an attempt to elude their attackers. Keith’s thigh was burning as they constantly dodged blaster bolts as they ran, and Lance was yelling at Keith as he complained about it the entire time. Suffice to say, it _sucked._

It wasn’t until darkness fell that they finally managed to completely lose their pursuers. They took shelter in a decrepit building, collapsing as they found their first moment of peace in what must have been hours. No doubt the Pro-Galra forces would start sweeping through the sector at first light in an attempt to flush them out, but for now they were safe— ish. 

They slept in shifts, keeping watch in case they were attacked in the night, though neither of them got much rest as both were too hyper-aware of everything and on edge. They tried and failed to make contact with the Galtosians. Their messages just weren’t getting through. It was likely that Ladnok had discovered their presence on the moon and was jamming signals in and out, so any attempt at extraction was entirely out of the question. Their best course of action was to make their way back to the forest and use the pod they had come in on to sneak back to Galtos Prime. 

They had no supplies, no food or water, and only their bayards as weapons. At the very least their suits would recycle enough moisture to keep them hydrated for a few days, but other than that they were shit out of luck. 

It was slow going. They did their best to move stealthily, trying to avoid a firefight at all costs. They were constantly dodging drones and sentry patrols as well as Pro-Galra scouts, having to hide more often than they moved. The vast majority of their time was spent squatting in decrepit buildings and holding onto their last vestiges of patience.

Lance was like Keith: a fighter. All this lying low left him itching to attack, to take down the next patrol and fight their way back to the pod, but that was an even worse idea than coming here in the first place. If they got into a shootout, they would be outgunned as well as outnumbered and it would likely mean the end for them, so they grit their teeth and kept themselves hidden even as the urge to _fight_ nearly overtook them. 

It was absolute hell, to say the least, and even more so when Lance was pissed at him.

He would constantly glare at Keith, shooting him dirty looks and sneering as he muttered and mumbled to himself. He blamed Keith for all of this and that was the real kicker: Keith _should_ have known that something wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have so blindly trusted an enemy force, should have expected that they’d be double-crossed from the start, but he didn’t. He’d been distracted and it _was_ his fault that they ended up here. 

On occasion they’d come across some meager supplies, dirty puddles that they’d suck up and rotten remnants of food they’d choke down, but they were still exhausted and on the verge of collapse by the time they made it back to their pod nearly a week and a half later. They stumbled their way inside the transport ship, Lance falling to the floor nearly the moment he stepped over the threshold. Keith staggered over to the pilot’s seat, falling in and fighting to stay awake as he steered them away from the moon. They both felt as though they were on death’s door, dehydrated and hungry and in dire need of some restful sleep, but there was still work to be done.

They only took one day to recover once they reached Galtos Prime, getting some food and water in themselves as well as nearly twelve hours of sleep before they were off again.

They took their Lions straight to Ladnok’s command ship, Lance’s jaw blade making quick work of the ion cannon as Keith’s heat ray decimated the bridge. With the head cut off the snake, it was a piece of cake to take out the rest of the Galra ships orbiting Zulenudros, and with the Lions taking care of the fleet, it was almost laughably easy for the Galtosians to recapture the moon. The entire ordeal took less than an hour and could barely even be called a fight.

Keith and Lance left as soon as they were certain the colony was recaptured and, despite their own victory, they felt utterly defeated as they returned to the Castle.

All Keith wants to do is fall into bed and sleep for a week, but he’s not afforded such a luxury. First, he and Lance have to debrief Allura on their mission and as soon as they’re done with that, Hunk is dragging them into the dining room for their first proper meal in days. Pidge joins them then, asking them all sorts of questions about the state of their Lions which they answer in between and around heaping mouthfuls of goo. They finish their food in record time even with Pidge’s incessant inquiries and they’re left to their own devices at last. 

Of course, that’s when Coran shows up. 

He insists that they each undergo a healing cycle. Lance leaves immediately, heading to the pods without argument. Keith heads in the opposite direction toward his room but Coran won’t take no for an answer. Coran follows him with persistent needling that Keith does his best to ignore, keeps telling Keith that he needs to take care of himself, that he owes it to the rest of the team to keep himself in “tip-top fighting shape.” Keith doesn’t bother to dignify him with a response, just keeps his head down and continues walking until there are feet in front of him blocking his path. 

Keith glares up at Coran then, trying to move around him, but no matter which way he goes Coran cuts him off. Keith is just about ready to scream in frustration but he calms himself as best he can, taking a deep breath before fixing Coran with a look that says he is _so_ not in the mood for this.

“Keith,” Coran says, trying to be as gentle as possible, his concerned gaze wandering over Keith’s body as he searches for signs of soreness and suffering. “You can _not_ just ignore your injuries.”

Keith knows that. He just doesn’t care.

“I’ll do a cycle tomorrow,” he says, unbelievably tired and just wanting this conversation to be over. “I promise,” he says with no intention of ever doing so.

It’s obvious that Coran doesn’t believe a word that comes out of his mouth. Maybe it’s the expression of utter exhaustion on his face, or the defeated slump of his shoulders, or the miserable tears that are starting to gather in the corners of his eyes, but either way it’s enough. Coran nods even as his frown deepens and then he’s _finally_ leaving Keith alone. 

The comfort and solitude of Keith’s own room is so magnificent that he could cry with relief. He strips out of his paladin armor with some aches and pains, changes into sleep clothes, and notes with vague amusement the black-purple-blue bruise that takes up the lower half of his rib cage and the blaster burn that’s seared across his upper right thigh. He collapses onto his bed, even as the action makes him hiss in pain, and falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow.

It’s only a few hours before he’s waking up violently, drenched in sweat and out of breath, his heart pounding out of his chest as his head spins. The nightmare had felt so _real._

In his dream, they were back on Zulenudros, in the middle of a firefight and surrounded on all sides. They were fighting back to back, Lance firing his bayard in quick succession as Keith blocked shots with his shields, but no matter how many sentries Lance took down, more took their place. They were advancing, slowly but surely moving closer and cutting off any and all potential routes of escape.

Then, of course, Keith fucked up. He let his guard down and a blaster bolt hit Lance dead center in his back. Lance’s brief scream of pain was cut short as he fell to the ground and Keith was on him instantly, dropping to his knees and pulling Lance into his lap.

Keith sobbed and pleaded, begged desperately, but it was of no use: Lance was already gone. No matter how many times he asked Lance to come back to him, to not do this to him, his body remained lifeless as Keith cradled him in his arms. 

A sudden flash of light overtook his vision as a blaster bolt flew directly toward his face, then there was only the darkness of his room as Keith shot up in bed. The pain in his ribs at the sudden movement is all that keeps him grounded, all that reminds him that it was just a dream. 

It’s late at night, late enough that everyone in the Castle should be asleep or at the very least in their rooms. Keith sneaks out of his own, silent as he steals across the hallway towards Shiro’s. This will be their last chance to come together for a while. Shiro is heading out first thing tomorrow morning and won’t be back in the Castle for a few days at best, a few weeks at worst. 

Keith knocks on Shiro’s door as quietly as he can, hoping it’s loud enough to wake Shiro but not so loud as to wake the others. It’s only a few seconds before Shiro answers and Keith is quick to push past him and into his room.

He can instantly tell that Shiro was already awake even though he’s in a pair of sleep pants, the lights are turned off, and the bedsheets are rumpled. It’s obvious in the slump of his shoulders, the bags under his eyes that speak to his lack of rest. Keith wonders how many nights he’s spent laying awake with only his own thoughts for company, wondering _What if?_

Keith wonders how many nights he’s spent the same way.

Shiro hasn’t left his spot by the door, just stands there and stares at Keith as he waits for him to make the first move. Shiro looks apprehensive, like he’s afraid of whatever torment Keith will command from him this time, but he also looks resigned, as though he’s accepted his role in all of this, the part that Keith makes him play. He looks like he’s bracing himself for pain, for agony, for _torture._

There’s a part of Keith that knows that this is wrong, that Shiro doesn’t really want this, but there’s a larger part of Keith that just doesn’t _care._

“Lie down,” Keith says, and he wants it to sound assertive but it comes out as a quiet plea. 

Shiro does as he’s told. 

Keith watches him as he walks over to the bed and lays back on it, his body barely lit by the solitary bar of soft light above. Shiro has a dead look in his eyes, an expression that speaks of inconsolable acceptance, and for a moment Keith wonders if Shiro hates this as much as he does, if he despises each one of their encounters, but it doesn’t matter. Even if Keith wanted to stop himself, he doesn’t think he could. 

He _needs_ this, needs the punishment, the power, the control. He doesn’t want it but he can’t help it—he’s backed himself into a corner and this is his only option, the only way for him to at least temporarily alleviate the guilt and shame and utter _grief._ This is all that quiets his mind, all that keeps him sane. 

Keith slowly makes his way to the bed. With his first step he strips off his shirt, letting it fall to the ground beside him. With the second, unsteady feet step out of his pants. The third, and trembling hands push his underwear down and off. Shiro isn’t even looking at him, just staring up at the ceiling as he waits for Keith to _take._

He’s at the side of the bed now, looking down at Shiro whose gaze never wavers, and he takes a deep breath as he climbs onto the mattress and then onto Shiro himself. He braces his hands on Shiro’s chest, legs spread on either side of his head, and every nerve in Keith’s body burns as he lowers himself over Shiro’s face.

“I want your tongue,” Keith whispers. Then, adding as an afterthought: “Please.”

Shiro is silent. Keith feels utterly stupid.

The mortification and embarrassment begins to overtake him. He’s powerless to stop the tears that start to well in his eyes, the tremble of his bottom lip, the rawness that runs through his throat at the shame and humiliation of the whole situation. All he wants to do is run back to his room, crawl under the covers, and hide until it all goes away.

But then there are fingers, feather light as they stroke over the outside of his knees before moving upwards. Keith wants to dig his nails into the lines Shiro’s fingertips draw over his skin, wants to scratch away the memory of his touch, but he just revels in the pain of Shiro’s metal hand dragging over his blaster burn and tries not to think about how much he wants to vomit.

The hands come up to grip his hips, slightly adjusting Keith’s position before they move across his skin to rest on the swell of his ass, gently squeezing and pulling at the malleable flesh. Shiro’s thumbs are dipping between as he spreads Keith wide open, baring him completely and entirely. Keith can feel his hole twitching around nothing, the cool air of the room and vulnerability setting him on edge even though he’s shaking for an entirely different reason. The hitch in Shiro’s breath is too loud.

Tears stream down Keith’s cheeks from the moment Shiro’s tongue first touches him. Shiro starts with slow, languid licks that have Keith’s legs trembling in anticipation. He’s almost gentle, a hint of uncertainty in his movements, and Keith can’t stand it. He grinds his ass against Shiro’s face and _demands_ more, and Shiro has no choice but to indulge him.

He eats Keith out with an earnestness that aches, an intensity that steals the breath from Keith’s lungs. He licks and laps at Keith’s rim, swirling over it before pressing forward and pushing inside. It feels _wrong._ It’s not as bad as when they were in the shower, but it still makes Keith’s entire body shudder, the smell of blood in his sinuses overwhelming. 

Keith forces himself to rock back into it, riding Shiro’s face at a pace that’s punishing for both of them. Shiro’s hands have moved to Keith’s waist, pulling Keith down further onto his face and farther onto his tongue, and Keith drops his head as his arms shake nearly too hard to hold him up.

He’s crying openly, on the verge of sobbing, but he has to keep quiet, can’t make any noise without risking someone overhearing. The Castle’s walls are thick but not soundproof; too many mornings he’s been woken up by Lance belting out bad pop ballads. So Keith clenches his teeth so hard his jaw aches, chokes down the whimpers and whines he so desperately wants to let out, just pants and gasps and heaves in breaths that catch in his throat. 

He’s properly sitting on Shiro’s face now, hands digging into the skin of Shiro’s chest as his legs tremble on either side of Shiro’s head. The position gives him the perfect leverage to grind back against Shiro’s face. It’s good, it’s so fucking good it _hurts_ and Keith can’t help but silently sob even as he rocks back onto Shiro’s tongue.

He pushes back further, trying to push Shiro’s tongue even deeper, but the hands on his waist are pushing him up and away as Shiro pulls his tongue out. Keith can’t help the whine that escapes him at that, far too loud in the silence of night, and he wants to pray to god that no one heard but there’s no time for that because Shiro’s whole mouth is pressed against Keith’s hole and he’s _sucking._ Keith breaks Shiro’s skin under his fingernails as he throws his head back and forgets how to breathe. 

The room is totally silent but for the sound of Shiro wetly licking at his hole and Keith’s own gasping breaths. It hurts in the best way possible and Keith feels like he’s going absolutely insane, totally overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure and utter _debauchery._ It’s almost easy to ignore the pins and needles shooting through his chest and the pressure that keeps building in his head. 

Shiro’s mouth— hell, his whole jaw must be aching by now but he keeps going, keeps licking and lapping and sucking as Keith shudders above him. The tears stream down his cheeks as Keith gasps desperately, falling into a steady rhythm of riding Shiro’s face as he rolls his hips back into that hot, wet, so good it _hurts_ feeling. All he can focus on is keeping himself quiet, ignoring the steady stream of precum that drips from his cock, and the lack of feeling in his fingers as well as the way his trembling isn’t just from anxiety anymore.

Time loses all meaning, seconds and minutes slip away as Keith falls into pure ecstasy, silently shaking his way through one of the most intense orgasms of his life. The cum oozes from his cock in languid squirts, sliding down Shiro’s chest to pool in the hollow of his throat. He’s stopped breathing, the lack of oxygen making him dizzy, and when Keith finally gasps in a breath he becomes lightheaded at the rush. 

Eventually Shiro’s tongue becomes too much and Keith collapses to the side, rolling off of Shiro and onto his back. He stares up at the ceiling as his entire body twitches, as his legs jerk and his hands shake. He can vaguely register the taste of blood on his tongue but he doesn’t have the presence of mind to care. They both just lay there for a few moments, neither able nor willing to move just yet, both of them panting as Keith comes down. 

Shiro doesn’t move as Keith climbs over him to get off the bed, remaining motionless even as Keith nearly knees him in the face. He only stirs to let his head fall to the side, watching as Keith weakly gathers his clothes. Keith is sluggish and unsteady, nearly losing his balance a few times, but Shiro knows better than to try to help. He just lies on the bed as Keith finishes dressing, gathers what remains of his dignity, and walks out of the room without a backward glance.

Keith doesn’t even try to go back to sleep. He walks through the hallways, ambling along with no sense of direction or purpose, and he finds himself outside the showers. He walks inside, stripping off his clothes automatically, letting them fall to the floor without thought. He turns on the stream and steps under, the freezing water stealing the breath from his lungs for a moment, but he doesn’t step back, just stays in place as the cold water warms up, as it grows hot until it _burns._

He grabs the soap and starts scrubbing himself down, harsh and methodical, digging his nails in as though to scratch away the filth that lives beneath his skin. He doesn’t notice at first, but Keith opens the wound on his thigh, blood dripping down his leg and swirling away down the drain. When he finally does notice he pauses, staring down at what he’s done to himself, then he starts scratching again. A sense of apathy overtakes Keith, his movements becoming automatic as he fixes his gaze on the tiles of the wall in front of him. Even as his skin turns pink and begins to sting, he continues to scratch through the soap. He desperately needs to be _clean._

He doesn’t stop until he’s scratched through the skin on his left forearm, but still he remains in the boiling hot shower, sitting on the floor as he buries his face between his knees and lets the scalding water wash over him. He’s overcome with the sudden urge to cry, but Keith finds that he can’t.

He stays in the shower for what must be hours, wishing desperately for _something_ to change, but nothing does. He’s still the same as he’s always been, still broken and battered and bruised, so Keith drags himself up off the floor, turns off the water, and steps out. 

He doesn’t bother drying himself off. Instead his feet take him to stand in front of one of the sinks so Keith can stare at himself in the mirror, the first time he’s really done so since all this began. 

He looks wretched. 

The blood vessels around his eyes have broken from the force of his crying, leaving his face a blotchy mess. His dark circles are almost black, contrasting against the unhealthily pale tone of his skin. His hair is limp and lifeless, his lips cracked and raw from where he’s bitten them so many times, and the scar on his collarbone shines in the bathroom light like a beacon of his ruin. There is a grief he carries in his eyes, overwhelming in its intensity even through their lifeless gaze.

He looks older, more weathered, as though he’s grown weary of this world. He looks like a dead man walking. 

He supposes, in a sense, that both of those statements are true.

He knows he should be worried about himself, concerned for his own well-being, but as Keith stands there and stares at his pathetic reflection, he feels absolutely _nothing._

☍

“Keith, you’re drifting off course.”

Pidge’s annoyed outburst snaps Keith out of the stupor he’s in and he’s quick to fly back into formation. He didn’t realize he was straying off his flight path. He’s so exhausted, his full focus is centered on fighting to stay awake. He’d spent the majority of the past night running through training sequences, punishing his body and pushing himself to the point of exhaustion until the early hours of the morning.

He’d stumbled back to his room shortly before everyone else would be waking up and had fallen asleep the moment he fell into bed, but it was less than an hour later that Keith was woken up. Pidge was pounding on his door, shouting at him, asking where the hell he was. They had a mission, they were supposed to leave half an hour ago, and Keith practically jumped out of his bed in his haste to get up.

He got dressed as quickly as he could, hastily pulling on his paladin armor while heading to the hangar bay. When he got there, Pidge and Hunk were waiting impatiently for him, Hunk looking uncomfortable while Pidge was standing with her arms crossed and foot tapping, mouth twisted into a scowl.

“Sorry,” he’d muttered, and Pidge just rolled her eyes before heading into her Lion.

They’re on a mission in the Karthan-Sigma Quadrant, escorting supply ships heading towards a planet that’s become the hub for refugees in that area. It’s a simple mission, the Lions are really just there for show and to promote feelings of safety and security more than to offer any real help. More and more factions have arisen with the Galra Empire coming apart at the seams, with warlords taking control of entire fleets. They’ve turned into space pirates of sorts, robbing unsuspecting ships of their supplies.

It’s an easy enough assignment, just some simple safeguarding, but Keith is struggling with everything today. Every time he messes up, Pidge gets more and more upset with him. 

She’s unhappy with Keith’s underwhelming performance. Technically, Keith should be the one leading this mission but he’s too exhausted, too distracted to give any orders. Pidge has stepped up to take his place, commanding him and Hunk as they escort the supply ships. She’s not happy about it, if her scathing remarks and venomous tone are any indication. 

The tension between all of them is palpable. From their rocky start to Keith’s numerous mistakes to his inability to take the lead, everyone is on edge with annoyance and irritation clouding their thoughts. Pidge stews silently while Keith quietly sulks and Hunk, as per usual, is the only one who tries to keep it lighthearted. 

“Man, you guys have got to try this shoom pie,” Hunk remarks, awkwardly trying to alleviate their unease. “They’ve still got a ways to go with their crust situation, but what they do with the fruit is just out of this world.”

“Sounds great, Hunk,” Pidge says, voice still tinged with annoyance.

Keith doesn’t say anything. 

Hunk, thankfully, doesn’t try to start further conversation, instead letting them all fall back into an uncomfortable silence. 

Keith finds his thoughts wandering to Shiro. He can’t help but wonder how the man is holding up under the stress of it all. From the team’s ostracization to Keith’s perverse abuse to his own self-punishment, the man is going through a lot. The few times Keith has seen him, he’s looked terrible, the circles under his eyes too dark and the lines of his face too deep. Keith wonders when he last smiled.

Not that there’s anything to smile about. Keith is much the same, the muscles of his face stuck in a permanent frown. There is no more joy to be found, no reason to laugh or grin, nothing to bring them delight. Keith can’t remember how it felt to be happy. He can’t remember how it felt to be whole. 

He’s coming apart at the seams, slowly but surely being torn apart as he’s pulled in all different directions. He’s destroying himself, a slow suicide of his own making, pushing himself closer and closer to the point of no return. He can’t help but wonder how much more of this he can really take. 

“Keith!” Pidge’s shout brings him back to himself. “You’re drifting _again!_”

Shit. He quickly corrects his course once more, shaking his head to try to dispel the fog covering it. 

“Sorry,” he all but rasps. 

“Get your _shit_ together,” Pidge snaps, finally having had enough. 

He knows he’s not being fair to Hunk and Pidge. They shouldn’t need to have to step up, to pick up his slack. He doesn’t want to be this way, forcing them to do more work to make up for his shortcomings, but he can’t help himself. He’s exhausted, he’s dealing with a lot right now and he’s doing his best, he really is. But his best just isn’t good enough.

“I’m trying, okay?” he all but mumbles, sounding totally pitiful. 

“Then try harder!”

He can understand why Pidge is getting so upset with him. After all, the last time he made a mistake, she nearly _died._ But that doesn’t mean she has to be so mean about it. Everyone on the team has made mistakes at some point, some more than others, and it’s not fair for her to so vehemently get on his case.

“Fucking— can you just let it go?” he pleads pathetically. 

“That’s all you ever seem to want to do, isn’t it?” she spits out, and at that, Keith snaps.

“What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?”

Pidge always has to do this. Ever since she found out about _it,_ she’s been nothing but passive aggressive, the few words she actually says to Keith biting and caustic and more often than not dripping with sarcasm. He gets it—she’s upset with him, but for the life of him Keith can’t figure out why. Lance, he can understand. He’s even able to see Allura’s point of view. But Pidge? She has no reason to take it so personally, yet she acts as though Keith’s mere existence in the same space as her is an insult. 

“Oh, I think you know.” 

“Uh, guys—” Hunk awkwardly starts to chime in, but Keith cuts him off.

“No, Pidge. I don’t fucking know. Tell me.”

He spits out the words, daring her to say something, _anything._ He’s wide awake now, adrenaline coursing through his veins, itching for a fight. He’s practically shaking in his seat with anger. 

“Guys, seriously—”

“Come on, Keith. You know everything, right? You know what’s best for everyone, especially yourself,” she says, pure sarcasm, and Keith grits his teeth together as he practically snarls at her in response. 

“Pidge, if you have something to say, fucking _say it._”

“Are you sure? Because I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say!”

“GUYS!” 

“_What?_” Keith and Pidge shout back at the same time. 

“We’ve got company!”

There’s a Galra battle cruiser heading toward them, coming out from where it was hidden behind a large asteroid. It’s already dispersing fighters toward the convoy and there’s no time to argue anymore as Hunk, Pidge, and Keith scatter to take them out.

Keith channels his rage into the battle, taking down fighter after fighter, twisting and turning as he makes his way toward the battle cruiser. He vaguely registers the sound of Pidge yelling at him through the comms but he ignores her, quick to take his jawblade to the ship. He takes out the ion cannon first and then the bridge, and then he’s targeting the body of the ship. It’s easy, really, and when he’s finished with the cruiser it’s nothing more than drifting debris.

He makes his way back toward the fleet, suddenly registering Pidge and Hunk’s total silence. He had tuned out their shouting on the comms but at some point they had stopped speaking entirely and he can’t help but feel confused, not understanding what the issue is. He’d gone off on his own, sure, but he managed to take down an entire battle cruiser by himself, so what’s the big deal?

The big deal is there’s a ship missing from the convoy. Where— 

Oh. Oh _no._

“Guys—” 

“Shut up,” Pidge says, sounding defeated. “Just— shut _up._”

Pidge is _fuming_ and Keith knows he brought this on himself.

He didn’t do the one thing he was supposed to, ignoring his teammates and leaving the convoy unprotected. He put everyone at risk. The supplies on that ship were vital, its crew members innocent beings with families and loved ones. 

People _died_ and it’s all Keith’s fault.

They spend the rest of the mission and the trip back in a stony silence, Keith almost completely overcome with guilt, wiping away the tears that occasionally fall from his eyes.

The moment they return to the Castle, Pidge is storming off. Keith follows Hunk toward the hanger a little ways behind, sniffling occasionally as he tries to at least hold it together until he gets back to his room, but he’s freezing in place when Hunk stops at the door. He turns around, looking at Keith with an expression that screams of the conflict inside him.

“I get that you’re going through a lot right now, but that’s not an excuse.”

Then he’s turning around and walking away. Keith stands there for a moment, utterly stunned, but eventually his feet begin to take him in the direction of his room. He’s in a daze, confused and conflicted and on the verge of breaking down, but when he gets to the safety of his room, the tears no longer come.

An excuse. An _excuse._

Is that really what the others think he’s doing? Making _excuses_? He was assaulted, violated, _ruined._

He’s a _victim._

Then again, is he really? He didn’t fight back after all, didn’t try to push Shiro off or away. He didn’t make any real effort to stop it from happening. He didn’t even say the word “no.”

And it wasn’t really _that_ bad. Shiro didn’t hurt him, didn’t tear him open and force his way inside. He was gentle, opening Keith up and doing his best to ease the way. It could have been so, _so_ much worse.

Not to mention, he did _want_ to have sex with Shiro, was in love with him. He didn’t exactly want _that_ but he still wanted it, at least in part. 

Maybe he is making excuses. Maybe he’s just overreacting, the actual event not as bad as he remembers, his mind making it out to be a lot worse than it actually was. Maybe the only person Keith has to blame is himself. 

Maybe it wasn’t rape, not _really._

It’s all too much. The mission, Hunk’s words, everything makes Keith feel sick. He can’t stand the thought of being himself. He needs to _hurt._

He finds Shiro on the training deck. The man is dressed only in a pair of exercise pants, his bare chest swelling with every breath as he pushes himself through yet another round of grueling combat simulations. Droplets of sweat shine on the floor, are flung from his hair as he ducks and dodges and spins about. It’s odd because Keith can’t ever remember seeing Shiro use his bayard before but now, fighting bot after bot, the man is absolutely captivating with it in hand. 

The double bladed lance is elegant, its length as tall as Shiro himself, and from the easy way he twirls it around, it’s light as a feather too. The curved blades at either end shine with each sweeping motion he makes, lethal and precise and quick to take out the gladiator bot he’s up against. He’s entrancing with the way he dances a deadly duet with his bayard, but he still looks like shit. 

He’s fresh off a mission, hasn’t slept in what must be nearly two days, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication. He’s supposed to be heading out on another assignment tomorrow morning but, regardless, he’s pushing himself to the point of utter exhaustion. His skin seems paler than usual, almost unhealthily so, and it only makes the bruises blossoming across his skin that much more noticeable. They’re at different stages of healing, obvious evidence of his refusal to use the healing pods. Keith wants to dig his fingers into every mark and relish in Shiro’s gasps of pain. 

Of all Keith’s awful ideas, this just might be the worst.

Eventually, Shiro finishes punishing himself. He ends the training sequence and deactivates his bayard, running a hand through his sweaty hair to push it off his forehead. He takes a minute to catch his breath, no doubt savoring a brief moment of a quiet mind, but after a minute he’s turning around. He pauses when he sees Keith, entire body tensing for a second before he relaxes once more. His expression takes on one of resignation with just a hint of apprehension. He doesn’t know what Keith is going to ask for but he knows he’s going to give it to him.

“I want your fingers,” Keith says quietly, still too loud in the silence of the room. 

Shiro sighs and closes his eyes for a moment as though to compose himself. He tosses his bayard carelessly to the side as he starts to walk again, his movements slightly stilted with his clear discomfort. Keith watches him as he passes by, out the door and down the hallway in the direction of the showers, and then Keith follows him. He can’t tear his eyes away from Shiro’s bare back, the muscles that flex and bulge with every step, the numerous scars that speak to his time as the Champion.

It was a miracle they didn’t get caught the first time they did this. The shower is a dangerous place to be, anyone could walk in and discover them, could hear them from the hallway outside, but it’s a risk Keith is willing to take. He needs to _hurt_ and he needs it _now._

Shiro is completely naked by the time Keith arrives, stepping under the freezing stream of water without flinching. Keith takes his time stripping down as he waits for the water to warm up before joining the man. 

Shiro looks exhausted by the whole affair and they haven’t even started yet. The moment Keith steps into the stall, Shiro is reaching for the conditioner, wanting to get this over and done with. He flips off the cap and goes to pour it over his fingers but, before he can, Keith stops him with a hand on his wrist.

“Your other fingers,” he rasps out, voice suddenly so hoarse it’s barely a whisper.

Shiro freezes. His expression morphs into one of confused terror as he stares at Keith, unable to even _comprehend_ what Keith is asking for. 

This is a line that shouldn’t be crossed, but Keith can’t help himself. This is what he _deserves._

He reaches out and gently takes the conditioner from Shiro’s hand, keeping his movements slow and steady despite how hard he’s shaking. He pours a generous amount over Shiro’s Galran hand, awkwardly rubbing it around the metal fingers as best he can. Shiro is still frozen in place, staring at Keith in complete shock.

Keith is heaving, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he wraps his fingers around Shiro’s wrist. He can’t bring himself to look at the man, can’t bear the shame and humiliation that would come from it, so he fixes his gaze on one of the floor’s tiles that’s ever so slightly darker than the ones that surround it as he moves Shiro’s hand between his legs. 

It’s an awkward position to be in, they’re both still standing and Keith doesn’t have it in him to spread his legs any wider. Shiro doesn’t move at first either, letting his hand stay limp where it’s wedged between Keith’s thighs, and Keith takes a deep breath before he forces himself to look at Shiro. The man is staring at Keith in utter grief and anguish, silently begging him not to do this, but even as his bottom lip begins to tremble, Keith doesn’t waver. 

Shiro’s fingers brush over his hole and he instantly starts to cry. 

It’s so much worse than he expected and Shiro isn’t even _inside_ him yet, has barely even touched him at all. Keith has lost the ability to breath entirely, his chest stabbing with pins and needles. This was a terrible idea. 

Keith is still going to go through with it.

He buries his face in Shiro’s neck as Shiro begins to move, rubbing his metal fingers over Keith’s hole, teasing at his rim without ever pushing inside. The tears that stream down Keith’s cheeks are lost in the stream of the shower, his whole body trembling uncontrollably as he forces himself to stay in place, to choke down the scream that builds in his throat. 

Shiro doesn’t want to do this to him, doesn’t want to hurt him like _this._ He spends minutes just stroking Keith’s hole, trying to give Keith as many chances as he needs to back out, to put an end to this before it really begins, but he isn’t going to. He’s halfway to a panic attack by the time he’s had enough of the stilted, mangled foreplay. 

“Just do it,” he all but sobs out through gritted teeth.

Shiro goes deathly still. Keith wonders if the man has finally reached his limit, if he’s finally asked Shiro for something that he can’t— _won’t_ give to him. Then Shiro slips the barest tip of his finger inside and Keith’s legs give out. 

Shiro is pulling away instantly, just barely managing to catch Keith’s dead weight before he goes down entirely. He lowers them slowly until they’re both kneeling on the floor and as soon as Keith isn’t in danger of hitting his head on the tile, Shiro is pulling away from him.

Keith’s whole body has tensed up, convulsing violently. He’s curled in on himself, his head dropping down as he weakly brings his arms up to cover his chest as though to hide himself. He’s stopped breathing entirely, his mouth open in a scream but no sound comes out.

Minutes pass like this, Keith breaking down as Shiro just stares at him, until eventually he begins to calm down. His entire body still shakes and his gasping breaths don’t feel as though they reach his lungs as he’s curled in on himself, his hair creating a curtain behind which he can hide his shame. 

He doesn’t bother to try to compose himself as he looks up at Shiro.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

Shiro stares at him in pure horror. He’s nauseated, appalled, _disgusted_ by what Keith is asking him to do, the pain Keith is asking him to inflict. He shakes his head almost unconsciously, his face twisting up as he opens his mouth.

“Keith,” he says, voice barely a whisper in a broken plea to end this. “I can’t—”

“I don’t care,” Keith says, cutting him off. He’s shaking violently, tears streaming down his cheeks, and he’s not hard in the slightest. “I. Don’t. Care.”

Shiro just continues to stare at him and Keith stares back, wretched and pitiful and _pathetic._ Shiro doesn’t want to do this, Keith can see it on his face, but even as he hates every moment of it, he gives Keith what he deserves.

He slips a finger in entirely, quickly and without preamble, and Keith pitches forward as he collapses once again, rapidly devolving into one of the worst panic attacks of his life. Shiro wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him close and holding him up so he doesn’t end up on the floor. Shiro isn’t hesitating anymore, fucking Keith with a single finger even as Keith violently sobs, his nails weakly scratching at Shiro’s chest.

He howls when Shiro slips in a second finger too soon and practically climbs into Shiro’s lap in his desperation to _get away._ Shiro’s fingers are scissoring and spreading, stretching him even as he relentlessly clenches down against the intrusion, trying to push it out. He starts sobbing harder when he realizes he’s quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place: giving up means Shiro’s sickening touch, giving in means metal that threatens to dismember him. 

When Shiro pushes a third finger in, Keith _screams._ Shiro hesitates then, freezing as he’s taken aback by such a visceral reaction. Keith can’t speak from the force of his weeping, his entire body seizing violently as he forgets how to breathe. Somehow, Shiro’s fingers not moving inside him are so much worse. 

He just wants it to be over. All he can do is start weakly hitting at Shiro, slapping his skin as he silently begs the man to just _get it over with._

“I don’t want to do this to you,” Shiro says, his voice cracking and pitiful as Keith cries harder.

“I don’t care what you want,” he manages to gasp out between sobs, and Shiro’s head drops to his shoulder in utter defeat.

His fingers begin to move again. Keith can’t help the way he wails, but Shiro doesn’t stop. He sets a pace that’s punishing, so forceful that Keith can feel it in his throat. Shiro’s fingers are abusing his prostate with every thrust, fucking in hard and sure, and Keith can’t tell if Shiro wants him to come as quickly as possible or if he wants to make it painful enough that Keith finally lets him stop. 

Keith begins to draw closer to the edge. He’s still completely soft, won’t be able to get hard in the slightest, but Shiro begins to wring a devastating orgasm from him nonetheless. He’s screaming now and if someone were in the hallway, they would surely hear, but Keith can’t bring himself to think about that right now. He can’t think about anything. Shiro’s hand is moving faster than Keith even though possible, fingers practically vibrating with the speed at which he’s fucking him.

Keith’s soft cock squirts and his vision goes black.

☍

When he wakes up, he’s in his own room. He passed out, Keith realizes. Shiro must have taken care of him, dried him off and dressed him, brought him to his room and put him in his bed.

He leans over the side of his mattress and vomits onto the floor.

☍

Romelle ropes Keith into taking her to the space mall. He’s got the time, not scheduled to head out on another mission for a few days, and he’s not occupied with Shiro as the man is currently out of the Castle on his own assignment, so Keith really doesn’t have a choice in the matter. 

It’s not too terrible, though it is terribly boring. At the very least, Romelle seems to be enjoying herself, and Keith finds that her company is not stifling like that of the others. She’s not overly talkative, when she does speak it’s usually meaningful, and Keith finds himself interested in what she has to say. 

She doesn’t try to bring _it_ up either, just pretends like nothing has changed and goes about her day. It seems as though she’s the only person in the Castle who respects that Keith just wants to go about his life like _it_ never happened and he is eternally grateful for her discretion.

Until now. 

They’re in between stores at the moment, Romelle leading them as Keith follows behind with a multitude of bags all filled with strange alien objects, but then she’s coming to walk beside Keith, hooking her elbow around his and pulling him close. He lets her do so even as the urge to scratch his skin off becomes overwhelming.

“I know what you’re doing,” she says, her tone suddenly deathly serious. 

Keith’s stomach drops. Dread starts to pool in his stomach, anxiety crawling its way up his throat, and he forgets how to breathe. He decides to play dumb in the pathetic hope that maybe, just maybe, she’s not talking about what he thinks she’s talking about.

“What?” he asks, and he wants it to come out as though he’s unaffected but his voice cracks pathetically. 

Romelle huffs, goes to roll her eyes but stops herself at the last minute. She looks Keith dead in the eye as she says, “I know what you’re doing with Shiro.”

Then Romelle sees the Earth shop and she’s dragging him in excitedly, looking at all the various items and asking Keith what they’re for or what they do. Keith barely manages to gasp out answers.

He can’t feel his body anymore. His limbs have gone to pins and needles and his chest feels like television static. He’s so lightheaded he feels as though he’ll pass out at any moment, his steps stumbling and awkward. His entire frame is shaking violently, and he tries to breathe but the air doesn’t seem to quite reach his lungs. 

Romelle _knows._

He spends the rest of their time in the store on the verge of falling into a total panic and when they leave with more bags than when they entered, Keith forces himself to turn to Romelle.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper and sounding horrible, terribly _pitiful._

Romelle is pensive for a moment as she considers his question, still looking at the shops they’re passing by.

“Nothing,” she says after a moment, almost absentmindedly, and Keith’s mouth actually drops open in shock. 

“What?”

She doesn’t even look at him, still focused on finding the next store she wants to go into. Keith is totally taken aback by this turn of events, shocked at the fact that this all just seems to be so _easy_ for her. She’s treating it as though it’s no big deal, as though the fact that he’s having sex with the man that raped him is just another fact of life.

“I don’t agree with it,” she says, her tone serious. “But at the end of the quintant, it’s up to you to make that choice.”

She turns back to him then and for the first time, Keith can see the sorrow in her eyes as she stares at him. It’s too close to pity for his comfort. 

“I just thought you should know that _I_ know.”

And that’s the end of it as Romelle drags him into yet another store.

☍

It’s nearly a full month before Keith and Shiro find the chance to come together once more.

He’s spent the time doing his best to avoid Shiro. While Romelle, true to her word, didn’t do anything about it or even bring it up again, Keith still couldn’t bring himself to face the man. The shame is utterly overwhelming because someone _knows._ Someone knows what he’s doing, knows his shameful secret. Someone knows that he’s sleeping with the man who assaulted him, who hurt him intimately and in ways he never believed he could hurt, and that he _likes_ it. 

Well, he doesn’t like _it._ He craves the pain of it, the agony, the torture of every touch. He thirsts for the power he holds over Shiro, hungers for the way he can punish the man even as he punishes himself, is desperate for finally being the one in control again.

The time Keith has spent away from Shiro has left him feeling unlike himself. He keeps losing hours, whole days even, that bleed into the time around him until he can’t remember what happened when, couldn’t tell the difference between memory and imagination. It’s terrifying, being so far away from himself. He doesn’t register things like he normally would, doesn’t feel pain, doesn’t feel hunger or thirst or anxiety clawing its way up his throat. Most days he doesn’t even feel human. 

He doesn’t feel _anything._

He’s totally out of control.

Keith feels like a passenger on a train watching the world fly by through the window, a blur of colors and shapes that are gone too quickly for him to fully see. Disconnected from it all, he was left with nothing to keep him grounded or tethered to reality. 

He doesn’t want this but he absolutely _needs_ it. It’s the only thing that makes him feel alive, the only thing that reminds him he’s _real._

He makes his way to Shiro’s room, bare feet quiet on the metal floor. On the way there he hesitated a few times, even turned back once, but still he finds himself where he intended to be, knuckles rapping at Shiro’s door. He waits impatiently for him to answer, head swiveling from side to side to ensure that no one else will see _this._

It seems like an eternity passes before Shiro answers the door. Keith must have woken him up: he’s dressed in only a pair of sleep pants, accented by horrendous bedhead, and his eyes are looking at him blearily. Keith opens his mouth to speak, but the door shuts in his face. 

All Keith can do is stand and stare in utter shock. He never expected Shiro to say no to him, to deny him what he asked for. It does make sense though, because the last time they were together coupled with Keith’s avoidance of the man most likely pushed him too far away for Keith to bring him back. It seems as though Shiro has finally come to his senses, decided he’s not going to help Keith destroy himself. 

Keith is less upset than he thought he would be. In fact, he’s not upset at all. It’s not that he feels nothing because he does _feel,_ he’s just in a state of total and utter calm. He’s perfectly at peace with this, immediately accepting it for what it is. He turns to head back to his room but before he can reach it, Shiro’s door opens again.

Keith whips around, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, and he stares in surprise as Shiro, fully dressed and slightly more awake, steps out of his room. He stares at Keith, eyebrows raised expectantly, and Keith almost smiles.

He doesn’t, but it’s a close thing. Then he turns and walks down the hall, not having to look back to know that Shiro is following close behind.

The hallways are entirely deserted but Keith can’t help the fear that surges through him with every corner they turn. Even though no one should be around, it’s still a risk to do this so openly, so Keith can’t help as he picks up the pace, making his way to the elevators as quickly as he can without outright running.

Everyone is either out of the Castle or occupied with their own business. Lance and Hunk are out on a mission and won’t return for another two days. Allura has secluded herself in her room, busy preparing for a speech that will be broadcast throughout the entire quadrant next week. Pidge took off in the Green Lion to meet up with Matt a little over an hour ago. Coran and Romelle are working on the teledove once more, trying to get it up and running again despite all their former failures. 

They are presented with a rare but heavily welcomed opportunity. For once, they’re totally without worry that they might be interrupted, that someone else will find out about their secret shame. They don’t have to sneak about under the cover of darkness, and there is no need for total silence. They are afforded a brief freedom tonight and Keith wants to take full advantage of it.

It’s been far too long. Too many nights has Keith spent with a longing that leaves him breathless, a desire that can’t be satisfied no matter how hard he tries (and good _god_ has he tried). He craves Shiro, _aches_ for him, desperate for the affliction that is his affection and the pain that punishes him in places he never knew he could hurt. Keith does not want, he _needs._

There’s a nervous energy between them on the elevator ride, an electricity in the air that leaves a sour taste on Keith’s tongue, and he can’t help himself from staring at Shiro.

He’s exhausted—that much is obvious. The false harsh lighting accentuates the lines of his face, the weariness he carries around his eyes. His brows are drawn together ever so slightly, his jaw tensed and lips pressed together tightly. His expression speaks of a tired determination and, even as the sickness in Keith’s stomach starts to rise, he can’t help but think that Shiro looks beautiful.

The elevator becomes a strange liminal space where the lines between dimensions blur, melding together until Keith can’t tell what actually exists and what’s just in his head. For a few blissful seconds, absolutely nothing is real. What Keith went through, what Shiro’s body did to him, it all dissipates and fades away. Everything they were, everything they could have been, comes together all at once and he and Shiro simply _are_ for a brief, breathtaking eternity. But all moments must come to an end and this one is no different. 

When the elevator doors open, all that they are steps out.

The pool room is strangely quiet, the constant hum of the Castle’s energy somehow muted in here. Keith’s gaze turns upward to stare at their reflections in the gently rippling waters above, the twisting, turning echo of their images reminding Keith of just how far apart they really are even as they stand beside one another. The lines between them blur until Keith can’t tell where one of them begins and the other ends.

When his eyes come back down, they are drawn to Shiro. His mouth is set in a grim line, brows slightly furrowed, as his expression takes on one of resigned expectancy. A sudden surge of guilt and uncertainty swells in Keith’s chest and, for the first time since this all started, Keith wonders if Shiro even _wants_ this. For the first time, Keith cares if he does.

If Keith could, he thinks he might kiss him, but for all that they do they can never do that. They’ve come close on a few occasions, cheeks dragging against one another’s, hot breath shared between them, foreheads pressed together so hard that it borders on painful, but their lips never meet. That’s far too good, too pure, too _sacred_ for what they do. They are filthy, feral, forever entangled in a web of shame, regret, and absolute grief.

Maybe that’s why Keith needs this, why he _craves_ it. It’s as damaging as it is indulgent, leaving him feeling sated and satisfied but also as though there’s a layer of grime just underneath his skin that he can’t scrub away. The confusion and confliction are overwhelming and Keith wonders what is so wrong with him that he keeps coming back for more. He wonders what’s so wrong with Shiro that he keeps letting Keith come back.

It’s too much—too much shame and regret and grief on top of everything else, and Keith is overwhelmed by it all. He doesn’t want this, he doesn’t want to _do_ this, but he can’t stop himself. His desperation is deteriorating, a festering infection that eats away at him from the inside out, spreading like cancer and growing more deadly by the day. Keith can’t control it anymore, can’t control _himself._

He acts without thinking, stumbling forward and throwing himself into Shiro’s arms even as doing so makes his chest go numb. He’s desperate and aching with the need for something, anything to make him feel whole again. 

Shiro goes stiff for a moment, unsure as to where this is going and what Keith wants him to do, but then he’s melting into the embrace, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist and pulling him closer as he buries his face in Keith’s neck. Keith holds onto him for dear life, as though Shiro is all that keeps him here, and Shiro holds onto him just as tight.

Shiro pulls away from him, sudden and jarring, and Keith is confused before he sees his face. Shiro’s eyebrows are drawn together by his irreconcilable thoughts, the crease between them as deep as his grief. The lines around his eyes are too pronounced for his young age, the dark gray of his irises reflecting a pain that Keith knows all too well, and the wetness that gathers in the corners breaks what remains of Keith’s spirit. Shiro’s mouth is open as though he’s desperate to say _something_ but the words just won’t come out. That, or he knows the words will make no difference. 

It is an expression of utter despair and Keith wants to pull Shiro back to him even as the thought makes his stomach turn. He even reaches out with his hands to do so but Shiro is stepping back, shaking his head as his face twists up further and— _oh._

So that’s what Shiro looks like when he cries.

He drops to his knees, his legs no longer able to bear the weight of his guilt, and buries his face in his hands as he sobs. Keith has never seen Shiro like this and it’s off-putting, to say the least. Of all of them, Shiro has always been the strong one, the one that holds it together for everyone else. He is strength and courage, belief without reason and insurmountable bravery to try despite the odds. 

This is not Shiro. Shiro is not a broken man. 

Keith has absolutely no idea what to do. He doesn’t know what can be done, isn’t certain anything ever can be done about _this._

He steps forward hesitantly, lets trembling hands reach out to run through Shiro’s hair, slow and gentle, tentative and with a tenderness that makes his throat ache. He doesn’t stop Shiro from wrapping his arms around his waist even as his skin crawls, lets Shiro bury his face in his stomach even as it drops. Shiro’s entire body is shuddering with the force of his sobs and it hides how hard Keith’s own body is trembling.

Keith hates every moment of this. Still, he keeps running his hands through the strands of Shiro’s hair in a pathetic attempt to reassure him that it’s okay. It’s not, they both know that, know that it will never be again, but they can pretend for a little while at least.

So Keith stands there and ignores the bile in his throat as he lets Shiro sob into his stomach.

In this moment, Shiro is totally and utterly powerless. A primal satisfaction purrs in Keith’s chest at the man’s patheticness, at the fact that he is the one standing over the other now, that he is the one that holds it together as Shiro comes apart at the seams. As much as he wants to hurt Shiro, to get some sort of revenge or regain some sense of control, Keith forces himself to try to reach out and bridge the chasm that stretches between them.

He drops to his knees as well, cupping Shiro’s face in his hands and pulling Shiro close to rest their foreheads together. He wonders if Shiro can feel his heartbeat pounding through the slight contact, wonders if he notices how hard Keith’s hands shake where they cup his face. 

They don’t kiss because they don’t do that, they don’t _deserve_ that, but they sit and share the personal space between them until the tear tracks on Shiro’s cheeks begin to dry.

Pure panic shoots through Keith when Shiro leans in closer. His heartbeat pounds too loud in his head as his entire body turns into pins and needles and he would pull away but he’s utterly paralyzed, frozen in total fear, as Shiro just gently bumps their noses together. Keith is powerless to stop the small smile that spreads across his face at the action, can’t hold back his breathy chuckle of pure relief, and Shiro smiles too even though he looks like he’s about to start crying again.

Shiro moves again and Keith lets his eyes slip closed. He can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, Shiro will kiss him even as the thought makes his chest go numb, but Shiro doesn’t do that. His lips move down, tracing along Keith’s jaw, hot breath fanning over his neck and making him shiver. Shiro latches onto a spot right behind Keith’s ear, gentle as his teeth just barely nip at the skin, and Keith lets out a breathy moan as he moves his hands up to tangle in Shiro’s hair. Shiro’s mouth is moving down his neck now, open and wet but still so absolutely sweet that it’s sickening.

Shiro’s hands creep up under his shirt, pushing it up before Keith pulls away for a moment to pull it off entirely while trying to figure out how to breathe again. Shiro is on him the moment he’s free of the fabric, scorching fingers roaming over newly exposed skin, mouth pressing red-hot kisses over Keith’s collarbones. Keith’s vision goes black for a moment when lips hesitate over scar tissue but it’s only a few seconds before Shiro is in motion again, his mouth moving down to Keith’s chest.

Shiro gently pushes him back, laying Keith out on the floor. He slots himself between Keith’s legs even as Keith subconsciously tries to close them, his thighs burning where Shiro is holding them apart. Shiro’s thumbs singe slow circles into his hip bones as he licks at Keith’s nipple, swirling his tongue and letting his teeth catch, and Keith can’t help the way he arches into Shiro’s mouth. Shiro moves onto his other nipple then, sucking and licking and biting and good _god_ Keith has missed this.

Shiro’s hands move down Keith’s body, fingertips dipping into his waistband, and his heart begins to pound too loudly as Shiro pushes away Keith’s pants and underwear. It takes some maneuvering to get them off entirely but Shiro manages, tossing them off to the side as his mouth moves down once more. 

He leaves love bites all over Keith’s hip bones, softly nips at the flesh of his lower stomach as his hands drop further, fingertips just barely brushing over the swell of Keith’s ass. Keith is whimpering, his hips surging upwards and legs jerking as Shiro hoists them over his shoulders, moving to bite and suck at the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. Keith is desperate for Shiro to _touch_ him, desperate for some kind of relief, but Shiro doesn’t give it to him. He just keeps winding Keith up with his mouth, his teeth, his tongue until Keith is shaking, his lower body a mess of red-pink-purple marks that make Keith want to cry. 

Shiro’s mouth is moving up along his thigh, further and further until— 

Oh.

_Oh._

Keith lies flat on his back, hands tangled in Shiro’s hair and legs thrown over his shoulders, watching as his reflection in the gently rippling waters of the Altean pool gasps and moans and _writhes_ as Shiro sucks his cock. 

He tears his eyes away from the mirror image and the real thing takes his breath away.

Shiro’s eyes are closed, hair falling in his flushed face and sticking to sweaty skin, his lips red and slick where they’re stretched around Keith’s cock. His cheeks hollow as he slowly moves up with an exquisite suction that makes Keith’s toes curl. As he descends, Keith’s legs violently tremble on either side of his head. Up and down his mouth goes at a steady pace that’s electrifying. His tongue slides over Keith with every stroke, alternating between swirling around his head and flicking over his slit every time Shiro comes up.

When Shiro pauses at the top, Keith can’t help the way he tries to buck back up into Shiro’s mouth, but Shiro’s iron grip on his hips keeps him in place. Shiro’s eyes are opening then, his gaze magnetizing Keith to the very depths of his being, and he maintains eye contact as he sinks down, down, down— 

Keith’s head slams back against the floor. Shiro pulls back up for a moment and then he’s deepthroating Keith again. 

All Keith can do is moan and squirm as he digs the heels of his feet into Shiro’s back, his hands gripping almost painfully tight in Shiro’s hair. Shiro remains gentle with him, keeps his movement slow and steady as he takes Keith all the way down, again and again and again. 

He pulls off for a moment, taking a deep breath before sinking down once more and pausing there. Keith can feel every twitch and pulse and throb of his cock against the walls of Shiro’s throat and it’s almost too much.

Then Shiro _swallows._

Tears gather in Keith’s eyes from the sheer intensity of the sensation. It’s liquid warmth, tight and hot and better than anything he’s ever felt before. His entire body is trembling as he gasps and sobs, not just from the utter rapture but also from the carnality of the act, the unexpected intimacy that comes from Shiro taking him in his _throat._

Shiro swallows twice more before he’s pulling off entirely, gasping in breaths. Keith is in a daze, his mind hazy with pure pleasure, entire body twitching as his hips jerk upwards, chasing that soft, wet warmth once more. Shiro indulges him, taking him in his mouth again, and as he does his hands leave Keith’s hips. They move up to cradle the sides of Keith’s ribs and, in this new position, Keith can fuck Shiro’s mouth.

He’s hesitant about it at first. He’s scared that Shiro might choke, scared that he might hurt Shiro, but Shiro can take it, _wants_ to take it. So Keith cradles Shiro’s head in his hands as he begins to thrust with purpose.

He doesn’t go easy on Shiro, pushing his cock into Shiro’s throat and barely giving him enough time to breath in between, but Keith isn’t violent or vicious with it. He keeps the pace right on the edge of punishing, with a gentleness that makes his head ache. If it weren’t for the tears in Keith’s eyes, it would almost be _intimate._

Too soon Keith is drawing close, the movements of his hips beginning to take on a frantic edge. He pulls one hand back to prop himself up on his elbow, his other hand tangling in Shiro’s hair and pulling just this side of too hard. He watches himself fuck Shiro’s mouth over and over again and he can’t help but think that Shiro was made for this.

The blush on his cheeks is blotchy, a beautiful red that complements the cherry lips wrapped around Keith’s cock, that contrasts the strands of sweat-soaked ivory stuck to his forehead. His eyes are open, half-lidded and glassy but no less captivating, dark gray glimmering with a look far too close to devotion.

He uses his hand in Shiro’s hair to pull the man down as he thrusts up, forcing Shiro to deepthroat his cock and stay there. Shiro gags around him, the wall of his throat convulsing around Keith, before he manages to adjust. Keith comes as he watches Shiro swallow around his cock in his throat.

Keith is totally overcome with pleasure. His hips are jerking, fucking into Shiro’s throat in a way that _must_ be painful, but Shiro just takes it. His face is turning red from the lack of oxygen, the strain of the act evident on his face as his eyes grow wide and wild as he grows closer to passing out, but he doesn’t try to pull off. He lets Keith hold him down on his cock as Keith is overcome with ecstasy. 

Eventually, Keith’s entire body goes limp as the last waves of his climax ebb, his hands in Shiro’s hair falling away and letting Shiro pull up and off. He all but collapses, head coming to rest on Keith’s spread thighs. He practically gags as he swallows thickly, heaving and gasping as he tries to catch his breath.

Keith is breathing heavy as well, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he comes down. He weakly throws an arm over his face to hide the blush that he can feel spreading across his cheeks. He’s _embarrassed,_ of all things, feeling terribly vulnerable in the rapidly fading afterglow. 

This is how it should have happened the first time. It should have been kind and gentle, not painful and agonizing. It should have been full of soft kisses and tender touches, not a broken wrist and blood in the back of his throat. It should have been slightly awkward and graceless but full of so much love that it didn’t matter how many mistakes they made. It shouldn’t have _hurt._

It hurts even now. This is how it should have been, this is exactly what he wanted, and even though he has this now, it will always be _ruined_ by what came before.

It’s all too much. The intimacy, the closeness, the pain and heartache and utter anguish all consume him. At first Keith cries silently, not making a sound as the tears stream down his cheeks, but it’s not long before he can no longer hold back his grief. He brings his other arm up to cover his face as he sobs, not able to stand the idea of Shiro seeing him like this. He doesn’t want Shiro to see him at all.

He tries to close his legs but Shiro is still between them, holding them apart, and Keith wails. Shiro moves away the moment he realizes and Keith is finally able to curl in upon himself, feeling horribly exposed and totally vulnerable. There’s a part of him that desperately wants to pull Shiro back to him, to be comforted by the safety and sickness of his embrace. He wants Shiro to tell him that everything will be okay, to reassure him that they’ll get through this somehow. 

He wants Shiro to promise that he’ll never let anyone or anything hurt Keith ever again.

None of that happens. Keith just lies naked on the floor and cries. 

It takes a while, but Keith calms down eventually. His sobs and sniffles slowly fade away until only the remnants of wetness on his cheeks and the occasional hiccuping breath remain as evidence of his brief breakdown. It’s not until the tear tracks on his cheeks have dried completely that he pulls his hands away from his face, meets his pitiful reflection in the waters above. 

He looks at Shiro, who’s moved to sit beside him while still remaining a safe distance away, not wanting to overwhelm Keith anymore. He’s pulled his legs up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as though he’s trying to make himself smaller, less imposing, less _threatening,_ and he stares at Keith with an expression of pure grief. Keith can’t stand it.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, voice raw and cracking with emotion.

“Like what?” Shiro whispers back, as though he’s afraid of shattering the moment.

“Like I’m breaking your heart.”

Shiro gives Keith a joyless smile as tears begin to gather in his eyes once more. He closes them and bows his head as he tries to compose himself but it doesn’t make a difference. Keith has always been able to see right through him. 

If he could, he would take away Shiro’s pain, spare him this torment and misery, but Keith has more than enough of his own already. All he can do is try to ease Shiro’s guilt and grief, try to show him that he’s not the monster he thinks himself to be.

“Fuck me,” Keith begs, quietly, as soft and sweet as he ever can be even as the words nearly choke him. He pushes himself up and off the floor, crawling to Shiro, climbing into his lap and bringing trembling hands up to hold his face. “Takashi, _please._”

There is only one other time that Keith has called Shiro by his first name and something in the man seems to break at that. Still his arms wrap around Keith, pulling him closer, and Keith lets him even as every breath is stolen from his lungs. Their foreheads come to rest together, Keith cradling Shiro’s face in his palms as his thumbs stroke Shiro’s cheekbones, their eyes closing as they desperately cling to each other and the remnants of all they could have been. 

Keith moves first, pulling away to take Shiro’s shirt off while ignoring the urge to scratch off his skin as their bare chests press together. He distracts himself by reaching for Shiro’s pants, but his hands are shaking too hard. Shiro moves then, fumbling and floundering as he tries to get his pants off without depositing Keith from his lap.

Keith can’t help the wet chuckle he lets out at the awkwardness of it all and Shiro responds with a laugh that sounds more like a sob, then they’re coming together again, every inch of themselves slotted against the other. It’s just as satisfying as it is utterly sickening. 

Keith starts pressing kisses into Shiro’s neck to distract himself. He ignores the urge to dig teeth into soft skin, ignores the impulse to scratch until Shiro bleeds, ignores how much he wants to make it _hurt._ He forces himself to be gentle, soft, tender with the movements of his mouth as Keith trails down Shiro’s neck. 

Shiro’s arm leaves Keith’s waist as he reaches off to the side, fumbling with something in his discarded pant’s pocket. Keith doesn’t pay him much attention, fully focused on sucking a necklace of blossoming bruises onto Shiro’s collarbone as he steadfastly ignores the ache in his throat. He hears a pop as his mouth moves upward, tracing his tongue over Shiro’s pulse point, and he almost jumps out of Shiro’s lap in surprise when slick fingers stroke over his rim. 

“Where the fuck did you find lube?” Keith gasps out, head falling to Shiro’s shoulder and he shivers as Shiro huffs out a soft laugh against his ear.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

He slides a finger in with a tenderness that makes Keith’s chest go numb. It’s been too long since they’ve done this, since Keith has done this to himself, and even the stretch of just one of Shiro’s thick fingers is almost too much. As he slowly begins to move inside Keith, his Galra hand travels up his ribs, thumb coming to roll over his nipple. The metal is cool against the heated flesh and even though Keith shivers for an entirely different reason, it’s still a welcome distraction.

Keith bites his cheek as hard as he can, trying to ground himself with the pain. It feels wrong, it always feels wrong whenever Shiro is inside him, but then Shiro’s finger presses against his prostate and Keith can’t help but rock back onto him. There’s another finger joining the first, and the care Shiro takes is heart-wrenching. He keeps it soft and easy as he stretches Keith achingly slow with the way he calmly scissors and spreads his fingers.

Shiro starts to properly fuck him with his fingers and Keith has to hold onto Shiro’s shoulders for dear life, his legs trembling almost violently. Shiro keeps the pace leisurely, slow and steady, but with enough force that Keith can still feel it in his throat. As Shiro brushes over his prostate, a breathy moan that sounds too close to a sob escapes Keith. Shiro hesitates for a moment, put off by the sound, but he still slips a third finger in.

Tears begin to gather in Keith’s eyes once more. He’s not fully hard, still recovering from his first orgasm, but he’s definitely starting to get there. His cock twitches every time Shiro’s fingers press against his prostate, throbs with each push of his fingers inside, and Keith forces his hips to meet every one of Shiro’s thrusts even as they twitch and jerk with the urge to _get away._

Too soon yet not soon enough, Shiro pulls his fingers out. Keith sighs in relief before accepting the emptiness, a deep resignation about what will happen next. There’s a moment where it all comes together, the pain and fear and anxiety and grief, so overwhelming in its intensity that it’s paralyzing, but then there’s nothing. Keith’s skin no longer crawls, the sickness in his stomach has eased, and all he’s left with is a twinge in his wrist and the faint echoes of dread in his chest.

He feels nothing as he moves his hand behind him, grasping Shiro’s cock and guiding it to his hole. He feels nothing as Shiro buries his face in his neck and moans against his skin. Keith feels _nothing_ as he sinks down in one smooth, deep motion that leaves him shuddering in Shiro’s lap.

He stays there for a few moments, adjusting to the feeling of fullness that comes with having Shiro’s entire cock buried inside him. He’s apathetic to the way Shiro pulls him closer, to the hands that move over him, to the mouth that presses, open and wet, against his skin. He doesn’t care about any of it anymore. 

He just wants it to be over.

He rises on trembling legs, almost all the way off, then sinks down again before rising up once more. Hoping to finish this as quickly as he can, Keith works his way up to a pace that leaves him all but bouncing on Shiro’s cock. 

Or at least, he tries to. Shiro doesn’t let him. 

Keith needs it to hurt. He needs pain and agony, needs Shiro to press his face into the floor and pound into him with a pace that isn’t anything other than punishing. He needs Shiro to hold him down and _take,_ but Shiro won’t. 

He gives Keith kindness instead, tender touches and a delicate embrace, a pace that’s far too close to intimate, and as much as Keith needs pain and anguish, the gentleness breaks Keith in a way that no amount of rough treatment ever could. 

Keith starts to feel sick again, his chest stabbing with pins and needles as his wrist aches, sharp and sudden. His indifference no longer protects him, he can no longer detach himself from these actions. Even as he begins to cry, Keith can’t help himself from playing along, desperate for even a fraction of what they once had. 

He’s not exactly sure how to do this and it shows. He’s clumsy as he tries to ride Shiro, all awkward angles and gawky limbs. He’s never done _this_ before, doesn’t know how to make it good for either of them. But Shiro’s human hand moves from his waist and plants itself in the center of his back, supporting him while the hand on his hips begins to gently push and pull.

With Shiro’s help, Keith starts to get the hang of it. He starts rolling his hips with more purpose, moving into Shiro instead of against him, and it’s _good._ It hurts, it hurts so much, but somehow it’s still good in a way it’s never been before. Even through the numbness in Keith’s chest, the vomit that crawls up his throat, the tears that stream down his cheeks, it’s _good._

They work their way up to a steady pace, Keith rolling his hips as Shiro’s hands lightly guide him. His own hands leave Shiro’s shoulders, moving up over his neck before tangling in his hair and pulling him even closer. Shiro presses hot, open-mouthed kisses to his skin, nipping gently and sucking just lightly enough to not leave any marks. Keith can feel every gasp and groan Shiro makes, can feel each moan as it reverberates against his throat, and he ignores how his own moans sound more like choked sobs.

It’s not what Keith needs, it hurts but not like he needs it to, and even as the intimacy and tenderness make him sick, he puts up with it because he knows that _Shiro_ needs this. He needs to pay penance, to at least try and give Keith the first time he deserved. Shiro needs to prove to Keith and to himself that he can be gentle, that he can be kind, that he can be _good._

Keith’s grip on Shiro’s hair tightens as he finally finds the right angle, sobbing at how good it is, and both of Shiro’s hands come to rest on Keith’s waist, helping to keep him at that angle as he continues to ride Shiro. He finally lets Keith speed up the pace as they both start to draw close, Keith’s rapid rising and falling leaving both of them gasping for breath. Keith turns his head ever so slightly so his lips brush against Shiro’s cheek.

“Takashi,” he gasps out against Shiro’s skin, a desperate plea for just a bit more.

“I got you,” Shiro murmurs, dropping a hand to wrap around his cock. “I got you.”

Keith’s legs give out and he collapses against Shiro, still frantically rolling his hips as Shiro’s hand moves quickly over his cock. He can feel himself rhythmically clenching around Shiro, can feel as Shiro’s hips begin to give subconscious, aborted thrusts upwards. 

Keith throws his head back as his panting grows frantic, as Shiro strokes him faster, and his entire body nearly shakes out of Shiro’s lap as he shudders his way through his second orgasm. Shiro is coming too, pulling Keith down onto his cock so hard that Keith can feel it in his throat. They clutch at each other desperately, holding onto the remains of everything that they once were and could have been as they fall into rapture.

Neither of them make any attempt to move as they come down. Keith is still trembling and completely collapsed against Shiro, whose human hand comes around to rub Keith’s back in a soothing manner as the hand still on his hips rubs tender circles almost absentmindedly. Keith’s face is buried in Shiro’s neck, hot breath panting over his skin, and Keith can feel as Shiro’s racing pulse starts to slow and his breathing begins to even out.

Eventually, Shiro moves both his hands back onto Keith’s waist, gentle as he eases Keith up and off his softening cock, the wet squelch echoing in the otherwise quiet room. Keith ends up on the floor, lying on his back, lightheaded and weak-limbed. There’s cum on his stomach and inside him that he should really clean up but he doesn’t have the energy to care right now. He’s still crying though silently now, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks and, despite that, it’s almost easy to ignore the dread in his chest and the grief that threatens to overwhelm him. 

Keith is in a daze as he watches Shiro, his head lolling to the side to follow the man as he lies down next to Keith. He’s not entirely sure why but when Shiro pulls him close, Keith lets him.

The cum on his stomach smears over their skin but neither can find it in themselves to care. One of Keith’s legs ends up thrown over Shiro’s as his hand comes up to rest on Shiro’s chest right over his heart. Keith’s head is pillowed on Shiro’s shoulder, his human hand coming up to tenderly tangle in Keith’s hair. They’re still naked and the metal floor will soon grow cold and uncomfortable as their heated skin cools, but that moment is still a while away.

Keith starts tracing his fingertips over Shiro’s chest, so light that he wonders if Shiro can even feel them. He composes cursive words against Shiro’s skin, quiet confessions he doesn’t have the heart to speak aloud. Shiro’s hand in Keith’s hair never hesitates though, fingers slowly slipping through the strands, and Keith sighs into the feeling as he lets his fingertips amble across Shiro’s skin. Their movements are timid, hesitant, as though they’re afraid to fracture this fleeting moment of peace. 

Before either of them can fully savor any of it, Shiro shatters it. 

He brings up his Galra arm and, even though he keeps his movements slow, fear still surges through Keith. His entire body begins to tremble when the hand comes up to cradle his jaw, his panic sudden and blinding as Shiro moves Keith’s face toward his own. As paralyzed as he is by the thought that Shiro might kiss him, there’s a part of him that’s desperate for it. He holds his breath, waits in fear and longing for Shiro to press their lips together, but Shiro doesn’t do that. He doesn’t even try.

All he does is bring their foreheads close to rest together once again, his thumb coming up to rub Keith’s cheek bone, soft and gentle and reassuring. Shiro’s gaze is piercing, searching for something in Keith’s eyes before his slowly close in seeming content to just stay there, to simply _be_ in this moment. Against every instinct in his body screaming at him not to, Keith closes his eyes too. 

They lay together and worlds apart as all that they once were and could have been drowns itself in the water swirling above them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would absolutely adore if you left a kudos or a comment with your thoughts. If you can figure out where Shiro got the lube from, I will send you one (1) lizard.
> 
> thank you so much to hidefromeveryone ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidefromeveryone/pseuds/hidefromeveryone), [tumblr](https://hidefromeveryone.tumblr.com/)) for doing Beta for this! !

**Author's Note:**

> I would love love love if you left kudos or a comment with your feedback
> 
> follow me on Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter @estellewastaken for updates or just to listen to me scream into the void


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